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BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

DRAMAS 

AND 

Historic [egends: 

Sllustratcb. 



ELABORATED FROM THE STARTLING EVENTS OF THE 
NEW ENGLAND WARS OF AN HUNDRED 
YEARS— TRAGIC, COMICAL, PRO- 
GRESSIVE, AND DIVLXE. 



BY / 

ROBERT BOODEY CAVERLY. 




BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY B. B. RUSSELL. 
1886. 






t>^ 



\^'^^ 



Copyright, 

BY 

Robert B. Caverly. 
iSS6. 



CATALOGUE. 



THE TRUE 

LEGENDS, TRAGEDIES, COMEDIES, AND HISTORIES CONTAINED 

IN THIS BOOK, ENTITLED 

BATTLE OF THE BUSH, 



Legend No. i. (Tisquantum a Chief of the Tribes, p. 3. 

I Sassacus, a Sagamore of the Pequots, p. 8. 
Drama No. i. The Last Night of a Nation, p. 15. 

HISTORIES. 

Pilgrim Incidents, p. 15 — Indians Kidnapped in the East, p. 17 — The Hos- 
tile Pequots, p. 8 — Priscilla, the Bride, p. 33 — Miles Standish, the 
Pilgrim Hero, p. 36 — John Alden, a Lad of the Mayflower, p. 37 — 
Sassacus and His Slaughtered Tribes, p. 55 — Arrows and Snake Skin, 
of Canonicus. 

TRAGEDIES. 

Fight on the Niantics, p. 20— Slaughter of the Pequots, p. 50 — Murder of 
Sassacus, p. 55. 

Legend No. 2. The Mohegans and Narragansetts, p. 61. 
Drama No. 2. Miantonimo (the Narragansett), p. 77. 

HISTORIES. 

Roger Williams and Canonicus, p. 77 — Uncas, the Mohegan Chief, p. 67 — 
Alliance, English and Narragansetts, p. 81— Frank and Angeline; 
their Courtship and Marriage, p. S3 — Invasion, Miantonimo upon the 
Mohegans, p. 93 — Eliot the Apostle, and the Tribes, p. 103 — The Four 
Colonies and Fifty Clergymen on the Death of Miantonimo, p. 74 — 
Ninegret and the Dutch, p. 87 — Story of the Two Quakers, p. 105 — The 
Forgery by Daddy O'Brien, and the Irish Wake, p. 112. 

TRAGEDIES. 

Battle, Uncas and Miantonimo, p. 122 — Murder of Miantonimo on Sachem's 
Plain, p. 123 — Nanuntenoo Hunted Down, Wounded, and Taken to be 
Slain, p. 99. 



BATTLE OF THE BUSH CATALOGUE. 



Legend No. 3. jWeetamoo, Queen of Potasset, p. 130, and 
( Mother Duston, p. 139. 

Drama No. 3. P^^"^ ^^'^'P^ P' ^^S-The War and its 
( Horrors, p. 145. 

HISTORIES. 

The Peace of Massasoit, p. 127 — Philip's War, Origin, etc., p. 12S — Mrs, 
Rowlandson, and her Captivity, p. 167 — Captivity of Mrs. Kimball, and 
Her Release, p. 1S2 — Of Mother Duston and Hannah Bradley, both 
from Captivity Released, p. 1S9 — Alliance, Mary with Jo, 179. 

TRAGEDIES. 

Fight at Medfield, p. 173 — Assault upon Mrs. Kimball and Her Children, 
with Her Deliverance by Wonalancet, p. 1S6 — Bampico Slain by Mrs. 
Bradley, p. 190 — Slaughter of Ten Indians by Mrs. Duston, p. 1S5, 1S6. 



Legend No. 4. \^^^ ^^"^' ^^'^'^^ Cromwell, and their 

I Conflicts. 
Dramv No d. (Th^ Regicides, their tragic Deliverance, 

j p. 202. 

HISTORIES. 

Charles I. and Oliver Cromwell, p. 197-202 — Charles II. his Reign, p. 197 — 
Dr. Drug and his Prescriptions, p. 223 — The Regicides Pursued in the 
Wilderness, and their Escape, p. 22S-245 — Leonora, her Fortune and 
Heroic Deeds, p. 246 — Kianemo, his Alliance and Marriage to Leonora, 
p. 231-247 — Trial oi" King Charles I., p. 207. 

TRAGEDIES, 

Fight, Jenny Geddes with the Bishop, p. 205 — Charles I. Beheaded, p. 207 — 
Cromwell Dissolves Parliament, p. 209-215 — Kianemo Pursued in the 
Wilderness, Escapes for Life, p. 235 — At the Command of Leonora, he 



Kills the King's Constable, p. 245 — GofFe in Fight at Hadley, p. 233- 
Cromwell's Death and its Results, 218. 



Major Waldron and his Massacre, p. 251. 
Drama No. 5. Chocorua in the Mountains, p. 259. 

HISTORIES. 

Chocorua in the Murder of the Campbells, p. 251 —His Pursuit to the Moun- 
tain Top, p. 297 — His Curse, p. 299, 300 — Lovewell's Fight with Paugus 
at the Pond, p. 272-274 — Conflict at Cocheco, p. 255. 

TRAGEDIES. 

Killing of the Campbells, p. 252 — The Shooting of Paugus, p. 273 — Ralle 
Murdered by the English, p. 260 — Chocorua Slain on the Mountain, 
Calling Down an Endless Curse, p. 297. 



Drama No. 1 . . . Battle of the Bush. — Last might of a Nation. 



THE 

LA5I IMT Of Jl Mil. 

(N. E.) 
an llistorical ©rama. 

[years 15S5 TO 1637.] 

By ROBERT B. CAVERLY, 

Poet and Historian. 



CHARACTERS. 



Brewster . . An Old Pilgrim. 
Major Snodgrass . . The Hero. 

HuLDAH His Wife. 

Bradford Governor. 

Mason .... English Captain. 
HooKE .... A Sailor (Irish). 
Underiiill, Eng. Capt. (a Swell). 
Wequasii . . . Indian Leader. 
Uncas . . . The Mohegan Chief, 
Standish .... Chief Captain. 



John Alden Assistant. 

Priscilla . Mullins' Daughter. 

(A Red 
The Narragansett, . J jyj^^^ 

Sassamon .... Interpreter. 
Hypsabeth . . A Lame Cotter. 
Sassacus . . . The Pequot Chief. 
Susanna . . A Pilgrim Mother. 
Weetamoo, The Squaw Sachem and 
" Potent Princess." 



BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED BY B. B. RUSSELL. 
1886. 



Copyright, i88d, 
By Robert B. Caverly, 



All Rights Reserved. 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE 

Sir Francis Di^ake Frontispiece. 

Tisquantum and the Pilgrims 6 

Tlie Conflict lo 

Snodgrass in tlie Springtime 20 

Standisli House 34 

Hypsabeth after the Battle 58 

The great Garrison 59 

The Red Man 64 

Massasoit and Governor Carver 80 

Ship at the Shore '. . . 93 

Native Manhood 122 

D'jston Statue . . .125 

Garrison at Wamesit 180 

Death of King Philip . . . 1S4 

Hannah Duston at the Massacre 186 

Giant of the Woods 191 

Maid at the Wheel 196 

King Charles the First 214 

Greenwood Grave 234 

Crossing to the Contoocook 240 

Chocorua in the Mountain 249 

Chocorua at the Grave 262 

The Conjurer v, • . ; 293 

Tisquantum's Return i . 340 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Incidents in New England's Primeval History 15 

Trouble with the Tribes foreshadowed 16 

Hunt, the Kidnapper, and Indian Captives 17 

Snodgrass, the Marketman, etc 18 

Trouble — English with the Pequots 20 

Priscilla and Grandfather at Home 21 

The Alliance — English with Narragansetts, broken 21 

Mason and others advance upon the Pequots 22 

Fight on the western Nianticks 23 

Indian Character. — The Situation 23 

Flight of the Pequots. — Huldah alarmed 25 

Governor Bradford's Anticipations 27 

Heroism of Snodgrass 29, 50 

Arrows in a Snake-Skin 30 

Indians with Bundle of Sticks. — A Coat to Sassacus 32 

John Alden, Priscilla Mullen, and Miles Standish 33 

Standish employs John to woo Priscilla 36 

John solicits Priscilla to be a Wife to Standish 38 

The White Bull from England 39 

The Squaw Sachem of the Nip-Mucks 39 

How Miles receives her Answer from John 43 

How Matches were made at Sligo 44 

John resolves to leave N. E. — Priscilla follows to the Ship . ... 45 

She induces him to abandon the Voyage 45 

Nuptials prepared at the Sea-Shore 46 

Priscilla on the Milk-white Bull 47 

Orders to Major Snodgrass, and his Orders thereon 49 

Snodgrass against the Dogs 51 

The Advance to take the Fort, and the Conflict 52 

Sassacus and Weetamoo in Desperation 55 

Weetamoo meets her Fate valiantly 55 

The Battle and the Devastation ..56 

Hypsabeth on the Slaughter of the Pequots 57 



BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 



TISQUANTUM AND SASSACUS. 
(legendary.) 

TiSQUANTUM had been cradled on a branching bough 
of the forest by an Indian mother. Beardless he stood 
erect. His hair was long and brown, his complexion a 
copper color, and his person comely. He was a native 
of the wilderness, had seen but a few of its winters, and 
knew nothing of civilization. In his boyhood he had 
just begun to wander with his paternal tribe on its wild- 
wood excursions ; had just begun with the bow and 
arrow to strike down the timid game : or to unite with 
the Indian hunter in pursuit of the wild wolf or the 
bounding deer. 

Just before this. Sir Francis Drake (in 1586) had 
visited this lovely land, and had named it New Eng- 
land. And Captain John Smith, with his extensive 
fleet (of 1 6 14), coming next, harbored for a season on 
the Isle of Shoals (where a monument long since has 
stood to his memory) ; and then, all the way from Cape 
Cod to the Penobscot, this captain, as an adventurer, 
surveyed the sea-coast Smith then returned, but left 
a part of his fleet here, at the Kennebec, in charge 

3 



4 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

of one of his commanders, by the name of Hunt. At 
length, as it happened, Tisquantum, with some twenty- 
five other Indian boys, young and unsuspecting, had 
been decoyed on board the shijD. Thereupon its moor- 
ings were cut, and the tardy fleet, with its freight of 
furs and little Indians, floated away, and took its course 
eastward upon the high seas. The waves rolled high, 
and the giddy lads were elated, but many an Indian 
mother, in the wild forests of New England, bereaved, 
wept that night in the agony of their hearts. 

To a foreigner it is apparent that a native like Tis- 
quantum would prove to be an attractive curiosity. 
Hence these Indian boys w^ere all conveyed away to 
Malaga, and were sold into slavery to the Spaniards. 

Not quite content with his condition in Spain, Tis- 
quantum, in the course of many months, through the 
aid of friends, was taken to London, and thence, after 
considerable time, aided by the master of a vessel, he 
worked his way back to his native wilderness in the 
New World. His return here tended to appease the 
animosity of the troubled tribes, as some others also 
had returned. In his absence he had learned some- 
thing of the English language, so that occasionally, 
as between the natives and settlers in the advancing 
years, he would become of use as an interpreter. 

On his return here, at first, the Patuxet tribe in 
Rhode Island and Massachusetts made him their chief, 
and he ruled and roved as their leader; but, as his- 
tory has it, the plague of 1617-18, and the terrible wars 
of that time with the Tarratines of the east, had soon 
scattered and destroyed Tisquantum's entire tribe, so 
that in 1620, on the arrival of the Pilgrims, this In- 



HEROES OF OTHER DAYS. 5 

dian leader was found here, a lonely wanderer of the 
woods. 

His noble bearing as a native Indian, his apparent 
honesty of purpose, and his knowledge — though im- 
perfect — of English, welcomed him to the Pilgrims as 
an interpreter. And as we have said elsewhere, — 

They hailed him, ' Squanto,' wandering here alone ; 

Who, sore depressed, bereaved of friends and home, 

Recounts events which true tradition brought, 

Of Indian life which sad experience taught, 

How far and near the dead unburied lay, 

Their own Patuxet race, all swept away ; 

Yet nations seaward, deep in woods afar, 

Spared from the scourge of pestilence and war 

Still thrive ; there Massasoit, whose power maintains 

The peace of Tribes, in full dominion reigns.* 

Thus, then, it was with the Patuxets at the advent of 
the Pilgrims. Their bones, mingled with the ashes of 
their enemies, were plain to be seen almost everywhere 
within this domain, in and about the numerous Indian 
battle-fields, around the sickly wigwams, upon the hills, 
in the valleys, and along the shores of the sea. From 
this lamentable destruction of the " heathen tribes " by 
the combined agency of war and the plague prior to 
their coming here, the Pilgrims took courage. They 
regarded this signal event as nothing otherwise than a 
special interposition of Providence, in the removal of 
the native tribes for the more successful settlement of 
their colony. Tisquantum remained with the English 
as an interpreter, instructing them in the Indian lan- 
guage, as did also Samoset, his friend. His member- 

* From Caverly's Epics, page 337. 



6 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

ship in the Pilgrim Church was of short duration. 
About two years after the landing, falling sick, he 
died in December, 1622. Of this, we heretofore have 
written: — 

Squanto,* meanwhile, who 'd served a peaceful end. 

And in the Pilgrims' God had found a friend, 

Bereaved and worn by care of bygone years. 

In mazy pathways through a vale of tears, 

Falls sick ; and as by fever low depressed. 

And life in doubt, to Pilgrims thus addressed 

His sovereign will : " This hunting-ground is mine, 

The lakes, the vales, those mountain heights sublime, 

The green-grown banks, where Merrimac bright glows. 

And all the hills far as Patuxet goes, — 

Those spacious wilds, my kindred, now no more. 

In full dominion held and hunted o'er ; 

Then, dying, all their titles thence descend 

To me, Tisquantum, now so near this end 

Of life. To thee, my Pilgrim friends, I give 

This broad domain, — here may the white man live ; 

My bow and arrow too, — I give thee all ; 

Hence let me go obedient to the call 

Of angel Death. Adieu! 

Thus gracious dies 
The last red man beneath Patuxet skies, 
And thus the English sole possession share. 
By will from Squanto, all this region fair ; 
Forever, thence, to lay the forest low, 
To fence fair fields, and drive the crooked plow. 
To waste the wigwams which for ages spread 
The wild, and build broad mansions in their stead, 
School-houses, temples to the God of grace, 
And cities proud, peculiar to the race 

* Alias Tisquantum. 




TISQU^^NTUM AND THE PILGRIMS. 



HEROES OF OTHER DAYS. 7 

Of Adam. Diligent through honest toil 
They reap rich harvest from the virgin soil. 
From culture urged with bold aggressive sway, 
Wild beasts, becoming frantic, flee away ; 
As ravenous bears and moose and wolves recede, 
Neat-cattle and the noble horse succeed 
In aid of husbandry. Full flocks abound, 
The herds increase as roll the seasons round ; 
The desert even, through culture's grateful care 
Soon set with fruit, begins to bloom and bear ; 
Fair nature smiles responsive to the plan 
Of faith in God and industry of man.* 

From the first treaty in 162 1, which was negotiated 
between Massasoit, king of the tribes, and Governor 
Carver, there continued a peace of fifty years, save now 
and then a fight, mostly among themselves, as in that of 
1637, wherein the friendly tribes united with the Eng- 
'lish, and undertook and nearly accomplished the exter- 
mination of the Pequots. 

Yet more or less of jealousies between the tribes and 
the settlers existed. They cropped out from time to 
time, but on the part of the Pilgrims were successfully 
appeased under the gallant leadership of Massasoit and 
Miles Standish, as more fully will appear in Drama 
No. I, which is to follow this brief legend, and in which 
also some reference is made to that faithful young ad- 
venturer, John Alden, and to that historic lovely lady, 
Fris cilia Mullen. 

• From my Epics, page 340. 



6 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

SASSACUS, 

KING OF THE PEQUOTS. 

It is now May 15, 1637. There is an extraordinary 
alarm throughout the English plantations in New Eng- 
land. Miantonimo, chief of the Narragansetts in south- 
ern Massachusetts, hath sent a notice to Boston that the 
Pequots fortified on the Mystic River are hostile, and 
have sent away their children and squaws to an island. 
Thereupon forty men are raised and sent to Narragansett 
to join other forces to be raised by Miantonimo himself, 
with the intent of falling in upon the Pequot warriors 
by a surprise, and thence to drive them out of the 
world. And then, in another direction. Captain Mason, 
with ninety men raised in Connecticut, had been sent 
away to make war upon the same Pequot enemy. 
Uncas also, with a large body of Indian warriors, ad- 
vanced with Mason, and on their march to Saybrook 
they fell in upon about thirty Pequots, killed seven of 
them, and piked their heads upon the lofty walls of the 
Saybrook Fort. Thence they advanced to take a forti- 
fication of the enemy, which was situated on a rise of 
ground in Connecticut, where Groton now stands. The 
English, with about five hundred allied Indians, arrived 
there on the morning of the 25th of May, and sur- 
rounded the eminence before the dawn of the next day. 
The battle was obstinate, furious, and deadly. The 
Mohegans and Narragansetts in the advance, however, 
began to hesitate ; and the English, fearing that they 
might not stand their ground bravely, urged them on- 
ward, and told them that the Pequots would be led 
against them by that bravest of all sagamores, Sassacus. 



HEROES OF OTHER DAYS. 9 

Mason and Underhill also, using cheering words, ad- 
dressed Uncas, the leader of the Mohegans, and We- 
quash, a fugitive Pequot chief, who had piloted the 
forces to the field of action, and who was to lead in aid 
of the Narragansetts, exciting them to bravery, com- 
manded them to follow the English. The army ad- 
vanced to the onset, and at midnight, while the unsus- 
pecting Pequots were quietly and securely reposing 
within their fortifications on the Mystic, the English, 
approached their rude gates.* The Pequots within 
(numbering some seven hundred), at once aroused by 
the barking of a dog, became distracted, not at first 
knowing the danger or doom that impended the entire 
fortification. Hostile Indians were stationed all around 
the vast fort in order to shoot down any who might 
attempt to escape, and the invading English force ad- 
vanced against the gates. The fort had two entrances 
at opposite points, into which they entered, the one 
and the other at the same time. Wanux ! Wanux! 
English ! English ! was the wailing cry of the five hun- 
dred savages within the wild wigwams of the entire 
garrison. The bow, the arrow, and even the toma- 
hawk were then as nothing against the invaders, such 
was the onset, the alarm and consternation within the 
fortress. 

The English, sabre in hand, backed up by the Mo- 
hegans and Narragansetts, from wigwam to wigwam, 
pursued and slaughtered them without distinction or 
mercy. Men, women, and children falling, fell. At 
length fire was applied to the mats and other materials 
covering the wigwams. It furiously overspread the 

* See Caverly's Indian Wars of New England, pages 84-99. 



lO BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

fort, and the dead and dying, enveloped in smoke and 
flame, were consumed. A part of the alUed forces, in a 
circle around and on the outside of the fortress, made 
it a duty, as we have said, to shoot down all that at- 
tempted to fly. Some of the hostile victims, trying to 
ascend the pickets to escape the flames, were shot 
down. Upwards of five hundred Pequots perished in 
this battle. Only two of the English were killed, and 
about twenty of the assailants were wounded. 

Sassacus himself, happening to be in another fort 
not far away, upon learning the fate of his tribes de- 
stroyed his habitation, and after visiting the ruins of the 
fort and the burnt bones of his race, he with a few others 
fled away to the faithless, treacherous Mohawks. Thus 
perished the Pequots, and thus ended the war, and 
very nearly the entire Pequot nation.* 

Yamoyden thus celebrates this tragic event : — 

" And Sassacus, now no more. 

Lord of a thousand bow-men, fled ; 
And all the chiefs his boast before 
Were mingled with the unhonored dead. 

Sanap and sagamore were slain 

On Mystic's banks in one red night. 

The once far-dreaded king in vain 
Sought safety in inglorious flight ; 

And reft of all his regal pride 

By Maqua's hand he fell and died." 

* Cotton Mather says that while this Pequot battle was progressing a 
party of three hundred (?) of them from another place came up, and they 
"acted like bears bereft of their whelps ;" that they "combined a bloody 
fight for miles together," that they made a fort of every swamp in their 
way, until they became finally " discouraged and gave over " at a place 
called Fairfield. 



HEROES OF OTHER DAYS. II 

At this battle, waged as it was by the English and 
their Indian allies on the one side, and by the perfidi- 
ous Pequots on the other, Sassacus, their great sachem, 
as we have said, was absent. Many of his men were 
also away, who, as appears subsequently, came in and 
rallied in the fight. Tragical indeed was that scene 
on the morning after the battle. When the news of the 
loss of his nation fell upon the ears of Sassacus, and 
his eyes came to behold the ruins of his great wigwam 
fortress, together with the mangled bodies of his 
slaughtered tribes, he, with his thirty Indians, appear- 
ing as the remnant of a powerful heathen nation, the 
picture was pitiful. 

The dead extended from the fort to the distant 
swamps ; and the whole loss to the Pequots, first and 
last, was nearly seven hundred. Mather says : " When 
they " (Sassacus and his remnant tribe) " came to see 
the ashes of their fort and the bodies of so many of 
their countrymen terribly barbikewed^ where the English 
had been doing a good morning's work, they howled, 
they roared, they stamped, they tore their hair ; and 
though they did not swear (for they knew not how), yet 
they cursed, and were the very pictures of so many 
devils in desperation." 

This was the last day of Sassacus on his old hunting- 
grounds in the valley of the Connecticut and along the 
beautiful Thames. 

The hand of Sassacus had been raised against every 
man's hand. His hostile nation had left its scars on 
the red, brawny faces of all the neighboring tribes. 
And now, while he lingered there in sight of the horrors 
of that tragic morning, amid the mangled bodies of his 



12 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

tribes, and in the midst of the wailings which Mather 
has described, — alas, how desperate ! " whither, oh, 
whither could he fly ? " Not one of all his thirty be- 
reaved friends who were then filling the air with their 
wild lamentations had the power to aid, to comfort, or 
to tell him. The English then were away, but, still 
reeking with vengeance, they were as yet on the alert, 
and were still seeking his blood. Where — to whom — 
should he fly! Like a wounded deer pursued by the 
hounds he leaped ; he sought the Mohawks ! and they, 
too, were still bearing upon their bodies the same deep- 
cut scars which Sassacus himself had made. But 
nowhere else could he go. Forgetting his own bloody 
aggressions, and depending for his life upon an unfor- 
giving, merciless foe, impetuous he flew away to that 
Mohawk tribe on the borders of New York. The 
Mohawks murdered him, and then afterwards turned 
and made war upon Passaconaway. * It was thus 
Sassacus fell, and from that a great Indian battle 
came off at Pennacook.f 

The wrath of the English, and of their allied Mohe- 
gans and Narragansetts, had swept away his nation like 
a pestilence, and then, like a fish caught in the net, or 
a bird in the snare, Sassacus perished. The Mohawks 
(as if in fear of the English), when Sassacus came 
falling into their open arms, slaughtered him in cold 
blood, and then with savage ceremonies they treacher- 
ously transmitted his bleeding scalp to the English 
government at Boston. 

Here ended the last sad lesson, elaborated as it is 

* Caverly's " Indian Wars of New England," p. 154. 

t Bouton's History of Concord, N. H., gives an account of that battle. 



HEROES OF OTHER DAYS. I3 

from the history of this famous belligerent, the fated 
Sassacus, — a lesson among many, wherein the wrath 
of man has been permitted to prevail over his better 
passions ; and where professed civilizations, as well as 
barbarisms, have been at fault, through which an entire 
nation perished in a night; and that original Pequot 
tribe of New England, as such, fell, never more to be 
seen. 

However cruel the provocations that urged the im- 
mediate necessity of destroying the Pequot race might 
be, the reader cannot but be surprised at the evident 
complacency of its leading enem}^, Cotton Mather, 
in announcing the result of that murderous conflict, 
when he asserts that in a little more than an hour 
"five or six hundred of these barbarians were dismissed 
from a world that was burdened with them." 

He states that on that terrible night of May 20, 1637, 
not more than seven or eight persons of all that multi- 
tude of Pequots at the garrison escaped ; these fled 
with Sassacus to the Mohawks. 

Dr. Dwight, on this subject, concludes it thus : — 

" Undaunted, on their foes they fiercely flew, 
As fierce the dusky warriors crowd the fight 
Despair inspires j dread combats strength renew 
With groans and shouts they rage unknowing flight, 
And close their sullen eyes in shades of endless night. 

" Indulge, my native land, indulge the tear. 

That steals impassioned o'er a nation's doom. 
To me each twig from Adam's stock is near. 
And sorrows fall upon an Indian's tomb. 



14 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

" And oh, ye chiefs, in yonder starry home, 
Accept the humble tribute of this rhyme ! 
Your gallant deeds in Greece or haughty Rome, 
By Maro sung, or Homer's harp sublime." 

It is said there had been no Indian nation more 
fierce, more warlike, or of greater terror to their neigh- 
bors than the Pequots. After repeating many of the 
enormities perpetrated by this nation, the famous Cot- 
ton Mather continues his narrative thus : " Unto all 
which, there was annexed the slaughter of nine men, 
with the taking of two maids^ by this horrid enemy 
lying in ambush for them, as they went into the fields 
of Wethersfield. So that the infant colonies of New 
England, finding themselves necessitated unto the 
crushing of serpents, while they were but yet in cradle, 
unanimously resolved that with the assistance of Hea- 
ven, they would root this nest of serpents out of the 
world." 



NEW ENGLAND. 

THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — A Country Kitchen with Wild-wood Sur- 
rotcndings, 

Brewster, Well, this world's events are varied, tire- 
some. But little of earth is there here to be cared for, 
or to be saved. Born in a foreign land, and of a good 
old English mother, ferried over to this at infancy 
unconscious, — to me the years unseemly have come, 
unseemly also they go. \Enter Susanna, listeniftg^ 
Now, nothing remains of nativity; nothing — nothing! 
A';;e in its hatefulness, sparing life but to make it a 
dreariness, is hovering. Time in its advance doth 
make the mind forgetful, delirious, dreamy, — oblivious 
TO all save a mother's love, a father's care, — making 
la'- re faint the flickering glimpses of boyhood's bewil- 

'. igs. Of the " Mayflower " historic, though cradled in 
' . . 10 me there is no return, naught of memory. Ah ! 
S.:5anna, you are here. 

Susa?t?ta. Yes, I 've been listening to your soliloquy, 

o. story sad but true. Stfll, reverend sir, you do not 
forget the perils which still invade this wilderness^ — 
•his wilderness of savage, wicked wanderers. 

IS 



l6 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Brewster. No ! These natives, slow to forget hea- 
thenism, have called forth many an agony. Tears 
there have been, and signs of tears still remain. 
Dreams are ominous. In the matter of a dream com- 
ing events foreshadow themselves. Massasoit is a 
king, noted, — peaceful he was and still may be, — 
yet wrong in its offensiveness, may make a tyrant. 
Other sagamores, though afar off, are more dreaded, 

— hence more to be dreamed about. I tell ye true, 

— for these three nights, successively, dream upon 
dream hath moved me ; for three long nights con- 
tinuously these dim eyes of mine have discovered, 
upon the curious coat of a savage, three drops of 
blood. SjEnter Standish.] Now such a sign is omi- 
nous, bespeaking direst deeds. So says Sassamon, 
our soothsayer. Ah! Who comes? Is it Standish? 
[Raising his hand inqiiiringly7\ What news ? What 
do ye hear ? 

Standish. I am sad to say, a story prevails that the 
Tribes are more and more in discontent; that far in the 
east the Tarratines, vexed in hunger and hardship, are 
arming themselves, meditating war, as some say, against 
the Mohawks on the south of the Great Lakes ; some 
say those tribes, and all the rest at heart, have ill de- 
signs towards us. But we shall see. Our English 
authorities in Boston, I 'm told, are already anxious, 
in deep deliberation ; that a committee of vigilance, 
promptly appointed, have gone forth eastward, north- 
ward, westward. 

Brewster. Indeed, I fear it. To me it is ominous 
of dread war. And what, Susanna \tur?ting to her\ 
what news do you bring ? 




L .i£// ai^'Sf j7^ 



SIR FRANCIS DRAKE. 



/ 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 1/ 

Susanna. News! My dear sir, you don't, don't 
know what ominous dreadful things are coming to light. 
Let me tell ye, for three long weeks I 've been dream- 
ing and dreaming — dreaming of blood. 

Brewster. There it is, right there ; I told 'um so ! 
And dread fear begins to overspread our habitations, 
and is now again moving us ; tearful, troublesome times, 
apparently near, are at hand. 

Standish. A foot messenger, as I hear, has arrived 
in Boston from the Sagadahock. It is rumored that 
the savages there are angry with us, and are in motion ; 
that one Captain Hunt long ago had kidnapped some 
of them, and that thence on board his ship upon the 
high seas he carried them to Spain, sold them there 
into slavery. These and other grievances they reiterate 
in their murmurings against our settlers. 

Susanna. And faith that is it ! I understand how 
it comes. From that came the message to caution our 
Governor. Murders ! Alas ! Alas ! Murders ! Murders 
upon our English mothers, and upon our helpless inno- 
cent infants. \Exit. 

Brewster, We may as well, through faith in our 
God, compose ourselves. It is often better to hazard 
much than never to trust. The Tribes are human, 
humane, and are created so to be. They have heads 
as we, hands as we, and hearts as we. In the human 
heart there is something written, — a rule righteous 
imprinted there as by an engraving. An engraving not 
of wood, not of steel, but of gold. Hence implanted in 
it there is that golden rule as from God, — continuous 
and eternal and to be adhered to. But what wicked- 
ness works, in violation of a righteous rule, may haunt 
us, does haunt us, nay, much mischief makes. 



1 8 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Standish. You are rights we grant, but what shall 
be done as against them. Hunt was conscienceless, 
devoid of faith, and without care or forethought. Yet 
our settlers, a pious people, must be defended. 

Bre7vsfer. Yes, Hunt's behaviour was ruthless; his 
crime retroactive. His infamy entails itself, bringing 
forth threatenings, deathlike. 

Standish. But what have we who are not slaves, nor 
to be enslaved, to do with slavery ? 

Brewster. Nothing, mayhap, save through others, 
others our Saxons. Yet art thou not thy " brother's 
keeper ? " God's laws are inevitable, immutable, and 
he who enslaves a man, sooner or later dies, as die he 
ought, half man, half devil. Nay, deserves death and 
something more. Death falling upon Hunt as upon 
Adam may, and perhaps does, in its consequences fall 
prematurely upon us. In this our time, so it cometh to 
pass, from such experiences ; and it is no miracle that 
savages are made more savage, a match for demons. 
Hence, threatenings of blood are made the more and 
more terrible, bespeaking murderous deeds. \A cry 
without : " Taters I taters / turnips and cabbages ! plenty 
on ^um I "] \Exit Standish. 

[Enter Snodgrass with basket in hand. 

Snodgrass. How are ye. Elder? How are ye old 
gal ? Wal, I 've come to this market a terrible sight 
too late. I started from my plantation soon as the day 
cracked in the east. I 've come all the way down from 
Quampegan with my hand-cart loaded ; hard up I am ; 
nearly fagged out. I 've brought down some cabbages, 
turnips, harge-grass, taters, and I 've been clear away 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. IQ 

over on the t'other side of the meadow to sell 'urn. I 
sold the taters to an old Jew of a critter, and hy Jingoes f 
he had a beard longer than the flax on old Aunt Dinah's 
distaff. And says I, ^^Jew, where d 'ye get all that 
hair?" Why! it hung down from his joles all yellow. 
'T was spotted like the fur of a coon's tail. And says I, 
"What will you take for it?" I kind 'er thought our 
Matilda would want it. That are thing, as I calculated, 
would have stuffed twenty bustles, and as many rag 
babies. And says I, "What '11 ye takeV And says 
he, "What '11 ye give?" Wall, I'll be blessed if I 
could trade with that old cuss at all. He had more 
love for money than I had for the whiskers. So I let 
him go, hook and line. 

Brewster. Then you could n't trade ? 

Snodgrass. No ! But I afterwards sold the cabbages 
to an old squaw for three shillings each — two feet of 
wampum, and took the rest in tobacco. Now I tell ye, 
that this wampum is a mighty nice thing. See here 
(holding up a piece of wampum). I bought this of a 
sneaking old curse, that had no trousers on. And says 
I, " Where do ye come from ? " And says he, " Wam- 
pum ! wampum 1 " I handed him out a pistereen, and 
don't ye think, that old curse did n't know what it was. 
And says I, ''Here, hand us that are string of clams ! " 
I did n't swallow but one on 'um. More than one at a 
time with the shells on alters lays hard on the stomach. 
Now, Elder Brewster, what do ye think of the redskins? 
I know an old Scotch woman who is terribly afeard of 
'um. Why, she can't sleep o' nights in thought of 'um. 
And now I'll start along. [Efiier Huldah.] But 
here comes my old Duck, Huldah. 



20 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Huldah, Husband, where on earth have you been 
all these hours ? I have been tired, — tired of waiting 
and waiting, — and have heard awful ominous things. 

Snodgrass. What things, Huldah ? In all ye have 
heard of 'urn, did ye hear any good of yourself ? If ye 
did, then let right on, — let right on, for that would 
kind 'er tickle us. It would tickle our fancies, — ha I 
ha ! ha ! But now tell us. what did ye hear ? 

Huldah. Why, they say. Captain Mason has just 
come down from the Mohawk country. He brings 
awful terrible tidings. He 's been told that the Pequots 
are burning, destroying, and making murders ever}^- 
where up the Hudson, and as how the Dutch on Long 
Island have armed themselves, and are besetting the 
tribes at their camp-fires, perpetrating horrid, horrid 
slaughter. O dear, dear, if they come down upon us, 
what, what shall we do ? 

Snodgrass. Do ? It 's of no use to be skeered. It 's 
the best way to take and kill 'um. Come, come along, 
old lady. {Exit. Enter Standish. 

\A voice without : " Watnpum! wampum to sell !^^ 
[Enter Susanna, listening. 

Standish. My dear Brewster, this day brings start- 
ling tidings. Our English authorities in Boston are 
alarmed ; are preparing for a savage war. I under- 
stand they are making an alliance with the Narragan- 
setts and Mohegans, — and that united they are about 
to invade the Pequots, and that the Pequot depreda- 
tions upon them are about to be avenged in blood. 

Susanna. Then in turn, I fear it, the Pequots will 
come down upon us. Alas ! Alas ! The fagot, the 
tomahawk, and that bloody, bloody scalping-knife at 




SNODGRASS IN THE SPRINGTIME. 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 21 

morn, at noon, or at midnight ! Ah ! who shall know 
the hour of the dread conflagration, or of the crimson, 
cruel slaughter ? Oh ! A dread death is upon us Eng- 
Hsh wives, and upon our dearest little ones. 

{Exit Susanna. 

Brewster. Standish, whence comes this news ? Are 
there proclamations ? 

Standish. No proclamations. Elder. Everything, 
as yet, is in secret. The tribes are coy, and coy are 
the measures that are to be taken to beset them. Our 
treaty with them has been set at naught, as you know. 
Colonial laws have been violated, broken, and Oldham 
on the Connecticut has been slain of savages. His 
blood upon them cries, cries from the very ground. It 
is time that all the volunteer recruits we can muster 
should be up and away. [Curtain. 

[Horns and trumpets in the distance^ 



Scene same. 
\_Fresent Brewster, and Priscilla comes tripping in."] 

Brewster, Ah ! here comes, as she is wont at night, 
my dear grand-daughter, Priscilla. 

Priscilla. Grandpa, you bear the appearance of 
being quite fatigued to-night. The labors of the day, 
I fear, have greatly tired you. Shall I, my dear grandpa, 
help you to an easy chair ? {Seats him^ Shall I bring 
your slippers ? [Enter Standish. 

Brewster. {Takes her hand.) Yes, and then, my 
dear, going to your rest, you may again bless me, as 
ever, with your sweet, sweet good night. 



22 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Priscilla. {Placing the slippers carefully and greet- 
t?ig him with a kiss, bids him) Good night, grandpa. 

[Exit, 

Brewster. A better, sweeter girl than that never 
lived. She is the common comfort of my old age, 
a pattern of loveUness. In this world, if an old 
man may prophesy, that lovely Priscilla in faith, in 
truth, and in usefulness shall live, and shall prove to be 
to this, and in this world a shining light, a prize to 
whoever shall win her hand. (From without great news). 
Now let me prophesy : that girl in womanhood shall 
live by making others live ; she shall be a servant of all 
in kindness, making herself to be a queen, loved, hon- 
ored, and admired on earth as an angel. 

{Exit Standish. Enter Mason. 

Brewster. Now what have ye heard. Captain "i 

Mason. I am from Boston. The colony has manned 
three ships of war. Endicott is commander, clothed 
with strict instructions to invade the Pequots on Block 
Island, and, sparing women and children, the braves are 
all to be put to the sv/ord. 

Brewster. Such tidings seem to me, in my sadness 
of thought, to be incredible. The events as now fore- 
shadowed portend more than I had ever dreamed about. 
I much fear that the colonies will lose much of life in 
the impending contest. 

Mason. In the next place, as I learn, Endicott is 
commanded to advance into the Pequot dominions, ob- 
tain the infidel murderers of Stone, together with a 
thousand fathoms of wampum. He is to demand some 
of their children as hostages for the performance of all 
treaty conditions. And if the children are refused, 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 23 

they are to be seized by force, and with them taken 
back to Boston. 

Brewster. When did the ships depart. 

Mason. The fleet left some days ago. Startling 
events, as I think, are on foot nearing us. \Exit. 

[Enter Snodgrass. 

Snodgrass. Elder Brewster, what de ye think of all 
these tragical stories which are flying about. The 
Injuns are plagy pugnacious in these times. Only 
think, down in our parish they have pitched in, and 
have upset old Aunt Molly Pepperel's hen-pen; they've 
killed and carried off her creeper chicken, and two of 
her best roosters ; and, worst of all, the tarnal critters 
overturned her blue-pot, and have destroyed all her dye- 
stuff. I just got a glance at one of the tramps today ; 
he sneaked away over beyond old Nathan's cow-pen. 

Brewster. Was he friendly ? Did he appear to be 
brutal, as they are wont — inclining to skulk as if at 
early dawn to betray and to destroy ? 

Snodgrass. He was a beardless, black-haired curse 
of a critter. His nose originally, as I should guess, 
belonged to a Roman knight. There was a sort of a 
Mount ^tna of the face, standing high up on the mid- 
dle on't. The full structure was enormous, turning up 
at the seed eend like the colter of a plow. He kind 'er 
shied away, and the last I discivered of him he was 
peeking around Deacon Drown's hog's stye. I '11 tell 
it to ye all : look out for y'r hogs, for y'r hens, and for 
y'r dye-stuff. And I '11 go home and tell Huldah to 
look out for her'n. If the scamps show their heads 
there she '11 go for 'um ; and I '11 tell ye if they get into 
a scratch with her — ha ! ha ! ha ! — if they don't catch 



24 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

it, then there 's no faith in finger-nails. Depend on 't 
they '11 feel the need of shin-plasters to be held con- 
stantly on hand. Such things have been needful, and 
will be so agin. Well, I '11 go. [£xU. 

[Enter Hooke, a sailor. 

Hooke. How are ye, Parson Brewster ? I have news 
to tell ye. There have been conflicts with the Indians 
by the naval force. I served on board the craft. Have 
just now returned. On the way up there, when the force 
reached Block Island, the Indians, cutting our acquaint- 
ance, were off to a vacation to the swamps, or to the 
ambush, or somewhere else. Pequots, unaccustomed to 
the smell of gunpowder, ventured not to run the risk of 
it. Powder proved quite offensive to their nasal organs, 
and they skedaddled. 

Brewster. Well, in that case, what was done by the 
naval force ? 

Hooke. Well, we conquered 'um. In two 'days we 
killed one Indian, shot one dog, burnt one wigwam, and 
destroyed all the corn. 

Brewster. From thence, what next ? 

Hooke. Then we sailed round to Saybrook, re-en- 
forced Gardner; and then the craft proceeded along 
the coast of the Western Niantics. And there the 
Indians, at the sight of vessels and full of suspicion, 
came running down to the shore, inquiring, "What 
cheer, Englishmen ? What do ye come for ? " 

Brewster. What answer was given to them, in return ? 

Hooke. In faith and be sure our English commander 
made them no answer at all — at all. Perceiving this, 
the old squaws, with their little ones, again turning to- 
wards us, inquired : " What now ? Englishmen ? Are 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 2$ 

you angry with us, Englishmen ? Are you angry with 
us ? Will you kill us ? " No answer was made, our 
craft anchored there that night far out from the shore ; 
and the curious Pequot women and children silently but 
sadly turned away. 

Brewster. Did ye see anything more of them ? 

Hooke. Nothing, nothing more, my lord. Dread 
alarms during the night of darkness reverberated 
through the wilderness — and during the day, never a 
Pequot in that neighborhood was to be found. \_Exit. 

[Enter Huldah, in trouble. 

Huldah. Oh, dear. Elder Brewster, what is next — 
next to come upon us ? Danger on the island, danger 
in the wilderness, danger in the cot, danger in the 
church, and in the highway ! Oh, it threatens us ! It 
is like a pestilence ! With dread vengeance it is to 
come upon us, and upon our innocent children ! Pray 
for us ! Oh, pray for us, that the God of mercies may 
save — may save us ! [Enter Snodgrass, and listens. 

Brewster. Sad, — so it is. {As if in prayer^ 

Save us, our God, from blood and tears below ; 

A plaint goes up, a note of woman's woe. 

Fierce vengeance tempts her singleness of heart — 

Her heroism true, her guileless art, 

Her purity, her own maternal care. 

Her faith in God, that never knows despair, 

Her love, indeed, that triumphs most and best 

In trial sad, when most by danger pressed, 

Whose truth endures when fails this vital breath. 

Inspires fond hope "and smooths the bed of death," 

To her sweet peace let prayers wend up afar, 

Avert, O God, a dread avenging war. 



26 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Snodgrass. Now what 's the use, Elder Brewster, of 
all this fear and fret ; of all this — this boo-hooing 
about — not much of anything. It's natural enough 
for a heartless heathen to be a murderer ; but they 
can't conquer us. As old Mother Goose used to say, 
it don't lay in their breeches (even when they have 'um 
on) to do much. They 're nothing but lousy, lazy, 
ignorant, savage sneaks. I know 'um, ^g^ and bird ; 
have sold 'um taters and cabbages, and bought wampum 
on *um. Why don't you English settlers do as I did ? 
Kinder bargain with 'um, and let 'um go along hunting 
and fishing, trousers or no trousers. It 's no use to 
kill 'um. No, — give 'um a blessing, a little fine salt, 
as the saying is, then they '11 be good natured. That 's 
the way to come it over 'um. They would n't hurt me ; 
I 'm not a bit afeard ; no ! I 'm not skeered. [^ war- 
whoop cry without — ^^JVoach, woach^ ha^ ha, ha, hack, 
woach ; " agtin explodes, and Snodgrass, alarmed, skedad- 
dles, tumbling over chairs ; all fly hither and thither, pur- 
sued by the l7idiafts.'\ [Curtain. 

Comic. — An Indian having been found frozen to death, an inquest of 
his race was convened to determine by what means he came to such a 
death. Upon a full hearing they returned the following verdict : Death 
from the freezing of a great quantity of water inside of him, which he 
had taken instead of rum. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. — Governor Bradford at his Headquarters, 

Governor, Of the great past, with its many startUng 
events, forgetfulness, as it is wont, follows it, — loses 
it. Oblivion in its disguise, with stealthy tread, creeps 
creation o'er. All the way, where generations have 
advanced in this new world, it hath beclouded every- 
thing. Here, all along up to the advent of our settlers, 
all there was in the history of Indian exploits, on earth, 
oblivion hath covered in, — nay, departed, it lies deep 
buried down, and dwells only in the past : — 

Give me thine aid, ye gods of early date, 
Or native nymph, or spirit from above ; 

Snatch from the fangs of unrelenting fate. 
The by-gone page, unknown of light or love ! 

{Enter Standish. 
What cheer, my Captain t 

Standish, Governor, I am sad to say there 's but 
little to cheer us ; our intelligence is various, conflict- 
ing — threatening us, at times. Sure I am, however, 
that at the final trial the colonies will be more than 
equal to all emergencies. Our Plymouth colony, as you 
know, is threatened with savage invasions. Tidings 
also from the Pequot dominions are filled with startling, 
crimson cruelties. Yesterday, five men at Saybrook, 

27 



28 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

haying in a meadow, were surprised by savages, and 
two of them were slain. Two men in a cornfield near 
there have been carried away captive. Six others were 
betrayed by savages ; two of them were slain. Almost 
everywhere in the settlements there are maimings, tor- 
turings, and kidnappings implacable. 

\Governor points him to a seat. 

Governor. We are at a loss — we hesitate — Mian- 
tonimo and the two sons of Canonicus — troubled and 
troublesome — have been here. They are now away. 
We have jointly resolved to declare all further alliance 
with the Pequot nation to be impossible. Katoshanakin 
has also been here; we received him with an escort. 
Vengeance inevitably must unmercifully fall upon all 
murderers ; and when the traitors are taken alive, as it 
is ordered, they must be delivered over to us. 

{Exit Standish. Enter Mason. 

Mason. Governor, the Pequots, mad and startled 
at the hearing of a gun in the distance, fell upon our 
man Tilly, maimed him, cut off his legs and arms, 
leaving him as yet alive — lingering. Also, three men 
at Wethersfield are slain — two were taken captive ; a 
horse and twenty cows are killed. \Exit. 

[Enter Underhill presenting a letter to Governor^ who, 

opening, requests it read."] 
Underhill (reads). 

Capt. Underhill, — " The Pequots under Sassacus have 
sent their women and children away to an island. They are 
meditating a war of blood upon the settlements." 

His 
(Signed) X Miantonimo. 

Mark. 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 29 

Governor, Indeed I am inclined to think all this 
may be true. \Exit. Enter Snodgrass and Hooke. 

Snodgrass (to Underhilt). How are ye, Captain ? 
How are ye, ye reverence ? Posted — {seeing the letter^ 

— posted are ye ? Now, for instance, what do ye think 
of these tarnal tribes that threaten to murder every- 
body ? Accordin' to my notions, an Injun ain't worth 
the ghost of a noticing, anyhow. He comes to jist the 
nearest to a nasty nothingness of any critter I ever did 
see. They 're cursed cowards, sneaking about every- 
where — in every place where they have no business to 
be. Give me forty men and I '11 drive 'um all into the 

— the — into hell. Sneaks, and nothing else; pre- 
tending to own all the lands hereabouts, when they 
have n't a deed of an inch on 't. Captain, tell the 
Governor to send us forty blunderbusses, and fifty 
pounds of powder, with a hundred pounds of pudden, 
and I will give 'um some. 

Hooke, Indade, what will ye want of the pud- 
din' ? Why not give the blackguards powder and 
bullets ? 

Snodgrass, First and foremost, ye see, the blunder- 
busses we must have, and the powder we must have, 
and pudden, ye see, will be good for their stomachs 
(bringing his hand up) and for mine — ha — ha — ha — 
and more than that, we can fill it into the blunder- 
busses on top of the powder, and then we '11 fire straight. 
The gods, we '11 spank it right into their blessed 
bosoms ! And, zounds, how it will splather 'um. It '11 
give um old-fashioned all overishness. 

Hooke. But and by faith they are numerous; and 
suppose, concentrating their tribes, they outnumber ye ? 



30 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Snodgrass. And then we '11 turn to and surround 
'um. I '11 tell ye what, valor shall perch upon our 
blunderbusses. It'll swash all over and about us. 

Hooke (aside). Valor outside more than in, per- 
haps. Now look-a-here, Snodgrass {beckoning hini)^ let 
meself advise ye to ye temperance ; and, sure, there 's 
one of three things ye must do, — ye must eat less, 
take phisick, or bu-burst 1 

Snodgrass. Pshaw, Hooke, you are joking! Old 
Mother Morrill says that one of them 'ere Injun curses 
came creeping round her hen-house yesterday morning;, 
and what do ye think the critter did ? 

Hooke. Can't say. What did he do ? 

Snodgrass. Do ? Why he shot her old spotted sow, 
and then, the lords ! how he did take to his heels ! 
Now, if any Injun should come sneaking round my 
premises in that way, I 'd just let him have a dose 
of pudden. I 'd give it to him hot. If they come in 
tribes, then I'll splather 'um — I'll fire a buster of a 
bombshell straight into the flock. \Exit Hooke. Efiter 
HuLDAH.] Well, Huldah, you are 'round again — in 
terrible trouble, I dare say — doleful, dolorabus, dolor- 
abum ! What now ? 

Huldah, Oh ! husband, there is trouble ; a despatch 
has just come ! Canonicus has sent to the Governor 
at Plymouth a bundle of arrows — and, oh my ! — 
(don't you think) the bundle of arrows was tied up in 
a rattlesnake's skin ! And the rattlesnake's skin and 
arrows are interpreted as dread threatenings — threat- 
enings of blood. 

Snodgrass. Wa'll old lady, that 's kind'er snaky. 
What did the Governor do ? 

Huldah. Do."* In return he filled up the snake's 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 3 1 

skin with powder and shot, and then sent it with its 
arrows straight back to Canonicus, as much as to say : 
"Ye infidels, if bloody, murderous war is what ye' 
mean, then, come on ! 

Snodgrass. Yes, yes, that '11 do ; that 's snaky enough. 
Yes, out from the snakes, I guess, by this, the sneaks 
will begin to smell gunpowder. Gunpowder inwardly, 
or on the joints of their hind legs, hath quite a weaken- 
ing effect, especially when they begin to smell it hot. 
Before they get entirely through, as I guess, they '11 
smell the powder and the pudden too. Come, we '11 go. 

\Exit, 

[Curtain. Governor seated. Enter Mason and Su- 
sanna. 

Mason. Governor, we have news, startling news. 
There 's a man at the garrison who says, that the colo- 
nial governor at Boston is concentrating a large force 
with the intent to assail the Pequots on the Mystic. 
That they are to be reinforced by our Indian allies, the 
Mohegans and the Narragansetts. 

Susanna. Oh, let us go back, Captain Mason ! O 
dear ! dear ! Let us go back and inquire further. 

[They retire. 

Governor (alone). Of what avail are treaties with 
these ungodly wanderers of the wilderness, — faithless, 
fearless heathen. Treaties we 've had with Sassacus, 
also with others, voluntary signed, sealed, yet as soon 
as made, violated. Discretion has no enduring stability 
in the heart of a savage. Of little economy is civiliza- 
tion if, in the event of revenge, its precepts and its con- 
ditions are to be set at naught and forgotten. Of what 



32 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

avail is religion if, through ambition and selfishness, 
your holy writ, the psalter, and prayer book, no longer 
to be cherished, are to be laid aside. Of what use if by 
force of a thirst for dominion or blood, might is allowed 
to make merchandise of manhood ? Still, at whatever 
cost, our colonies must be defended and sustained. 
[Enter Standish.] Good eve, Standish. What news ? 

Standish. I learn that the murderers of Stone are still 
secreted, protected by the Pequots ; but we shall hear 
something more of this, mayhap, from the friendly natives. 
{Enter a Narragatisett and the Interpreter?^ Oh, yes ! 

Standish {introducing theni). This, your excellency, 
is a Narragansett sent here, as it appears, by Canonicus. 
{Narragansett bowing and at the same time laying at the 
Governor' s feet two bundles of sticks?) 

Governor {privately to Standish). For what are these ? 

Standish. This bundle, your excellency, as I am in- 
formed, — these sticks indicate the number of beaver 
skins which the Pequot nation proposes to present to the 
colony as an atonement for alleged wrongs. They are 
sent to invite a treaty with the pale faces, as they call us. 

Governor. Captain Standish, what return ought the 
colony to make to this ? 

Standish. Perhaps a present, bespeaking friendship, 
will best answer. Molasses tends to serve the fly-trap 
better than vinegar. 

Governor (stepping out and returning^ beckons the 
leader^ and presents a coat). Here take this coat for 
Sassacus. Tell him in future to send to my court 
not you, but a delegation of chiefs, clothed with power 
for specific treaties, red men of note more discreet, 
more dignified. 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 33 

Narragansett, That the chief will do. Thank! Thank 
you ! {bowing low.) Your commands me will carry to 
big Sagamore Sassacus — our king brave — 'Tis great 
gift — 'T is from white man's chief — 'T will please our 
big chief. Sassacus wants peace. 

\Exit Narragansett and Interpreter. 

Governor. From this I trust — 

Sweet peace shall come, a harbinger of health, 
Of generous thrift foreshadowing weal and wealth. 
With prompt good will and noble deeds at hand, 
Glad tidings down to bring, to cheer the land, 
To heal the heart, and thus to make amends 
For wilful waste, which from the past descends. 

Then this fair vale, from mountain to the main 
In grandeur budding, bright shall bloom again ; 
And plenteous harvest with her golden ears, 
Crowning the prudence of progressive years. 
Filling the field, — triumphant grace shall give 
To honest toil, — here may the white-man live ! 

\Curtain. 

Scene II. — Alden and F7'is cilia seated witlmi a 
rural tent. 

Snodgrass (entering. Exit Priscilla. Beckoning John 
as he starts to retire^ John, how are ye ? John, you 've 
fallen in love with that gal, I take it. Kind 'er love her, 
John ? Umph ! Never mind, I '11 bet ye there 's a fortin 
in her ! Handsome, young, shy as a cony. Well, well 
John, never blush ! When ye are older ye won't feel it 
so much. You won't feel so faint, and Priscilla won't 
feel so skittish by the side of ye, nither. Come, John, 
now tell me where y'r old master Standish is ? I was 



34 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

told t' Other day, he 'd kind 'er taken a shine to Pris- 
cilla, himself. But he 's too a old a coon. And 
Priscilla is a deal too young a gal for such an old 
'un. How is it, John, if ye was to kind 'er want to cut 
him out. I '11 — I '11 — I '11 guess ye can. 

John. Umph ! Away with ye nonsense. Captain 
Standish is now away. Gone away on duty for the 
colonies. He rarely visits his home, leaves me in his 
place, and I am still in his service. But what you pre- 
tend of him is a whim, a strange sensation. Most 
likely 't is from some old woman. 

Snodgrass. Remember, John, Priscilla is a hand- 
some gal. The loss of the captain's wife was a severe 
shock to him, • — and after so long a time seeing such 
a smacking nice girl as Priscilla, I should n't wonder, 
should n't wonder, should n't wonder, John, should n't 
wonder. 

John. Nonsense ! I am sure my old friend and 
leader has no thought of a remarriage. And no one 
can suspect the young Priscilla herself of ever enter- 
taining any thought of marriage with anybody. I 
doubt, I doubt, if she would marry the king himself. 
[Exit Snodgrass. Enter Huldah.] Ah i How fare 
ye, Mrs. Snodgrass. It is a long time since we met. 

Huldah. Yes, time flies fast. How do ye get along, 
my friend ? They say you are in high prospects, John. 
And now, how is it 1 I Ve just been having hints of 
your alliance with the young and beautiful Priscilla. 
Never better ! You can never do better, John ? 

John. Do better than what ? 

Huldah. Ah ! Indeed ! It 's no use for you to dis- 
semble. Now don't you blush. It's all out, John. 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 35 

It 's no use to try to dodge in y'r love matters. Own 
up, John, own up. Now seriously, you may well under, 
stand, John, it '11 take a wise head to catch Priscilla, 
she 's so smart and pretty. Still, it is rumored that the 
old captain has set his heart upon her. Yet Priscilla 
may not have any knowledge of it. 

JoJm (abruptly). And I've no knowledge of it — 
and you have no knowledge of it. It's mere moon- 
shine — the mere tattle of some buffoon or some silly 
old maid, perhaps. 

\Exit HuLDAH. Enter Brewster. 

Brewster. Master John, where now is Captain 
Standish ? 

John. The Captain has not as yet returned. He 's 
been long away in the wilderness on duty, on a trail 
against the offensive Indians. 

Brewster. Well, the Captain is good for anything 
he undertakes. He is always full of cares — abroad as 
well as at home. The loss of his faithful wife, and 
the many trials to which he has since been subjected 
by the troublesome tribes, constantly aggressive in 
these settlements, have of course encumbered him with 
much care. 

JoJm. On what account are you desirous of seeing him ? 

Brewster. Nothing, except that I would suggest tD 
him there is a fearful uneasiness in our neighborhood, 
created by Indian cruelties. It seems to be increasing, 
and needs consideration ; yet perhaps we may safely 
await the Captain's return. Please inform him of my 
call, and of my desire of seeing him. \Exit. 

{Enter Snodgrass and Hooke. 

Snodgrass. Steve Hopkins says he 's heard some- 



36 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

body say that Captain Standish has had a fight with 
the Injuns. That he *s killed three on 'um dead as a 
door-nail — that he 's killed Pecksuot, Wituwamat, and 
other native scamps. They 'd laid a plot to murder 
the Captain. He turned upon 'um, and he 's sent day- 
light right straight into 'um, and through 'um — and 
that 's good ! gooder and goodest ! Why, he 'd kill 
the whole tribe, and hang 'um up to dry — high up to 
the very horns of the sky. This news is too o-be-joyful 
to keep. Rejoice, rejoice and be glad. Wonder what 
the settlers will say to it down in my Sligo. [Enter 
Standish.] But here comes the hero — Captain Stan- 
dish himself. 

Standish. Where 's Alden ? 

Snodgrass. Who ? 

Standish {loudly). Alden. 

Snodgrass. Who ? John Alden ? Oh, yes, yes ! 
I 'II go and call him. \Calling in JohnJ] John, here 's 
your old master returned, after a glorious fight with 
the Injuns, — but I must go. [Exit. 

Standish. John {beckoning him)^ I am, as you see, 
again here, — am as full of care as ever ; and at this 
time I have a subject of which I desire to speak to you, 
privately. John, as you know, I have long confided in 
your faithfulness to me. In you, John, I still confide. 
As in the past, in the future, I will never distrust you. 
You know the sadness at my fireside is very great, 
making my life at home sad and wearisome. I need 
someone there to remove its dark shadows. Sick at 
heart I have been, and am now, at this loneliness ; and 
as a relief, I have often and constantly of late thought 
of Priscilla, — have thought she could cheer me, — and 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 3/ 

she may feel at liberty to adopt my house to be her 
home, her father and mother and brother now being 
dead. She is alone. I have seen and pitied her lone- 
liness. The sweet girl has had grief — has heard of 
my grief, and may know how to assuage it through the 
remainder of this earthly pilgrimage. She, as I think, 
would be discreet, courageous, and kind; and to me, as 
I think, would be an angel. Now, I have revealed my 
thoughts to no one but to you. Please keep all this 
much for me. Meet Priscilla at your first con- 
venience. Broach this subject to her. Will you do 
it, John ? 

John. Yes {hesitating)^ ye-ye-yes. 

Standish. I can't, not having much learning or 
words, talk to her myself. I am cowardly in this. You 
may suggest to Priscilla that a blunt old Captain, " a 
man not of words, but of action," offers to her his 
hand and his heart, — " not these words, you know, 
but this is my meaning." ^ You, being a scholar, can 
say it better — yes, in better language. Such language 
as will accord with the conditions of love ; such words 
as may best tend to woo and to win her over to me. 
What say you ? Say ? 

John {half stammering). I 'm not used to this sort 
of service. But {hesitatingly) I '11 — I '11 — I '11 try. 
When I can obtain an opportunity, I will try. Captain, 
we had a call to-day from Elder Brewster, who desires 
to confer with you in reference to the peace of these 
colonies. \A pause.'] Please say how soon I must 
have the talk with Priscilla. 

* Longfellow. 



38 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Standish. Oh, seek your best chance John — seek 
your best chance ! After conferring with Brewster, I 
must be away for awhile in the east. The settlements 
are troubled ; the tribes have not as yet forgotten the 
trespasses of Hunt. 

John. Now, Captain, would n't it be better for you 
to give this job of talking to Priscilla to some one else 
more experienced ? You know I am not accustomed 
to such undertakings ; and, upon reflection, I have 
great doubts if I can do it right, and I fear — 

Standish {interrupting). Oh ! you are a scholar, John. 
You are young, and Priscilla will listen to you. You 
have invention, and good language and a good address. 
Never mind, John, never mind ; you will do right. 

\Exit John. Enter Snodgrass. 

Snodgrass. Captain Standish, how fare you ? We 've 
heard of your conflicts, — all about how you laid 'um 
out ; and the tribes hereabouts are standing greatly in 
need of admonitions of the same sort. At Cocheco, 
Squanamegonic, and down at Sligo, where I live, the 
cursed critters kill the cattle — they catch the cows, 
pull out their tongues from their heads, leaving them 
alive. Up to this kind of deviltry, they have been at 
work a long while. Yes, Captain, they are richly de- 
serving some of your wholesome reproof, such as ye 
gave to Wituwamat, when ye hung his head upon the 
Puritan fort; and such as ye gave to Pecksuot when 
you chopped his head off. Captain, guess ye ought not 
to be absent — ye 're needed here — there's plenty of 
business — plenty on 't — plenty of gals — but none 
quite so plump as Priscilla — ah! ha, ha. Never mind, 
Captain — never mind me ! 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 39 

Standish {abruptly). Get out, with yr gals! Our 
country and our lives first. Then let your love matches 
come afterwards. [Enter Brewster.] Ah ! here is 
my friend. 

Brewster. Captain, we learn there is considerable 
trouble in the east, — at the Sagadahock and along the 
shores of the sea. It is thought that your presence 
there will be needed, attended with considerable force. 
The Norridgwocks and Pequawkets are also rebellious, 
committing fearful depredations. 

Standish. I 've already had some notice of this, and 
I am to be away this very night in that direction. [Exit. 

Snodgrass. Elder Brewster, I 've been hearing that 
Winslow has just returned from England; the ship 
having just landed. They say he's brought over with 
him neat stock, among which are hogs and goats, two 
heifers, and a milk-white bull, — almost all kinds of 
critters. Agriculture is going now to start right off. 
Things will be made to grow^ if the tarnal Injuns can 
be squelched out. Our old captain has bought of 
Ousamekin a lot of land called Santucket, seven miles 
square. He paid for it 7 coats, of a yard and a half 
each, 9 hatchets, 8 hoes, 20 knives, 4 moose-skins, and 
10 yards of cloth. Other stories are going the rounds. 
The whites are suspecting a row with that young sqttaw- 
sachem of the Nip-mucks. The captain can conquer 
her if he tries. Her headquarters are in the Wachu- 
sett Mountains. She inherits all the lands between the 
great rivers. Guess the Captain had better kind 'er 
court her a little. What a bouncing wife she would be 
for the Captain. And then through her he would in- 
herit the entire Nip-muck country, — and then he might 



40 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Strut as Capi7t Standish, rich in fame, rich in lands, 
and, I '11 guess, rich in papooses. Ha ! ha ! ha ! But 
now he 's away, there can be no guessing what will be 
done. That stoiy, that the Captain is in love with the 
young Priscilla is queer. It 's as they say, jist like an 
empty bag with a cheese in it. It 's jist no cheese at 
all. [Curtain. 

Scene III. — Priscilla in the kitchen^ singings John at 
the door, listening. 

Priscilla. Ah ! good evening, Mr. Alden (curtsey- 
ing). Glad to greet you after so long, long a time. 
The days have moved slowly, and the little birds mean- 
while have sung to me many a sad, sad song, you, my 
dear John, being absent. You won't forget me so long 
again, will you ? — Oh, no, you won't ! — What makes you 
seem so silent ? — Sad are you ? — Any one dead ? — Have 
you lost any dear friend, John.? or hath grief come 
upon your good heart in some other way ? 

John. My dear Priscilla, I have not come to wound 
you with any grief, nor to burden a kind and sensitive 
heart, like thine, but to inspire it, as I may trust, with 
healthful, hopeful promises. Captain Standish, of 
whose fame you have heard and known much, valiant 
and faithful in these settlements as he has ever been, 
has, as you know, for a considerable time, in his other- 
wise pleasant home, lived in loneliness. He, in the 
meantime, has deeply sympathized in his heart with 
you in your bereavements, and has noticed your kind- 
heartedness towards all those for whom you have hith- 
erto cared and loved ; and, allow me to say. Captain 
Standish loves you. And now in his behalf, in behalf 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 4I 

of our distinguished hero, who has ever proved himself 
to be (ahhough the great military leader in this colony) 
a noble, generous-hearted man, — he, my dear Pris- 
cilla, through me extends to you his confidence ; and 
believing, and having faith as he does in you, has au- 
thorized me most respectfully in his behalf to tender to 
you the unconditional offer of his heart and hand. 

[A pause. 

Priscilla. Why do you not speak for yourself, y^//;^ / 

John, I am in this an agent, — am an inmate of the 
Captain's house, am his general solicitor. I am here, 
as you see, at his request, bringing to his long-loved 
Priscilla, this his offer of marriage ? 

Priscilla, If the great Captain of Plymouth is so 
eager to wed me, why does he not come himself? 'Tis 
very plain, " If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am 
not worth the winning." * \_A pause. 

John. The Captain at this time is away, is obliged 
to be away in care of the colony and of our lives. 
From the press of dangers he had now no convenient 
opportunity, no time to be here himself in person. 

Priscilla, Has he no time for such things, as you 
call it, before he is married ? Would he be likely to 
find it, or make it, after the wedding 1 

John. Ah! My dear Priscilla, you can scarcely 
know how to appreciate the good qualities of Captain 
Miles Standish. He hath come down from a noble 
ancestry. He wears its ancient coat of arms. He is 
the heir of vast estates and of high honors. Nay, he is 
a gentleman of a noble, generous nature, as well as a 
vahant soldier, high in office. Any woman in Ply- 

* Longfellow. 



42 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

mouth, in truth any lady in the realm, might well be 
proud to be honored as the wife of Captain Miles 
Standish. 

Priscilla (with voice half faltering). Why don't you 

speak for yourself, John ? [And turns towards her work. 

John (aside). Oh ! . What shall I do ? How can I 

venture to betray the trust placed in me by my dear old 

master, the Captain. 

Priscilla (returning bcwitchingly). Why can't you 
speak for yourself, John ? (Turning, looking him over.) 
Excuse me, my dear, at least for a moment, while I look 
to my affairs. [John standing in despair. CurtaiTt. 

Scene IV. (John alofte to himself.) 

John. This is a cruel fix. How am I to rid my- 
self of this entangling network. What will the old 
Captain say } Sad, sad I am, to have wounded the 
heart of Priscilla. No longer can I conceal it. My 
own love and respect for that sweet lady is unbounded. 
Oh, how can I hide myself from the Captain ? First, 
then, I '11 go hence and find the Captain and tell him 
all. Surely no reason can he have to frown at this my 
ill-success. If in this I have incurred his displeasure, I 
will away. That mighty ocean, that waved me hither, 
shall bear me homeward bound to the land of my birth, 
there to remain forever. Having exhausted all my ef- 
forts to serve and save my Captain in this undertaking, 
I can do no more ; and I have no heart to supplant 
him, nor can I, adverse to his inclinations, dare to join 
hands with the dear, dear Priscilla. [Enter Standish.] 
Ah ! he 's here. Well, Captain, I am glad to have you 
return to me so soon. 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 43 

Standish. I know you are always glad to see me, 
John. How now as to Priscilla ? 

John. In fact, Captain Standish, I undertook that 
duty which you assigned to me. Have done my best. 
Still the fates seem to be adverse to the enterprise. I 
interviewed the lady in the best language and with the 
best arguments I could invent. After suggesting your 
thoughts of her loneliness, her bereavements, and her 
aptitude for a change to a married life, I advanced to 
lay prominently before her your noble qualities, your 
highly renowned ancestry, your generous disposition, 
your great honor, your exalted position, your gallantry, 
and your transcendent achievements, — all this and 
more, — and yet all, as I am sad to say, to little or no 
purpose. Priscilla held me to an explanation. There- 
upon I urged the most plausible reasons why you did 
not see her yourself, pressing your suit prudently and 
as best I might do. In answer to all this Priscilla 
strangely, surprisingly, inquired, "Why do you not 
speak for yourself, John ? " 

Standish [exclaiming). To the devil with such a 
question as that ! [Enter Snodgrass interrupting^ 

Snodgrass. Captain Standish, a messenger is with- 
out announcing a troublesome outbreak on the Saco. 
Some of our men upset a canoe on that river with a 
papoose in it. It came near drowning the child. It 
has taken a dreadful cold, and I guess 't will die. Now 
the men had no right to do the like of that, yet they 
thought that a papoose could swim. But it couldn't. 
It sunk ; but the old squaw, diving down, brought it up 
alive, yet it died. The Injuns are fearfully angry on 
this account, and threaten to come down upon us to a 
murderous revenge. {Exit. 



44 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Standish. Yes, there 's a hell everywhere ! \_Exit. 

John {alone). What now am I to do ? Can I dwell 
here longer? Never! Never 1 My guardian and 
friend offended, I '11 return to my native shore. Her 
whom I may not love, and him whom my agency hath 
offended, may still remain here. Better be in my grave 
far away amid the dust of my kindred than to be here 
dishonored, dishonorable, or despised. This very night 
a ship is to leave this shore. In it, unknown, unseen 
of Priscilla, I '11 bid a final farewell to this, this new 
world. Farewell ! Farewell ! [Curtain. 

Scene V. Snodgrass a?id Huldah. 

Snodgrass. Now, old lady, let 's you and I make a 
match. Matches are kind 'er going on nowadays as in 
the olden time they used to go, when you and I kind 'er 
bundled in, in the natural way. We Ve heern of 
'um much. For instance, over in Sligo, there 's Giles 
Scroggins. He, as you know, is courting Molly Brown. 
Here, too, there 's that are love affair of Captain Stan- 
dish, with that are young Mullen gal. I 'm dreadfully 
sorry it 's turning out so disastrously. The old Cap- 
tain, they say, has gone off, clean away, mad. Bad luck 
to all the Injuns that he overtakes on his way as he 
goes. And there 's John, too. He 's half distracted. 
He don't know whether he 's afoot or ahorseback. 
They say, he 's starting off to go to sea ; and Priscilla 
she '11 go to — yes, she '11 go to — to — to grass, I guess. 
Aha ! ha ! ha ! 

Huldah. Priscilla. Talk of her going to grass, not 
her. She was created for a better eend than to falter, 
or to pine away at one disappointment, or at two. She 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 45 

loves John^ but love can never make a fool of that dar- 
ling girl. Her energy and labor have made her beau- 
tiful. And 'tis true as, the sun, that, without energy 
and dignity of labor, genuine health and comeliness in 
woman never can be realized. Now, as I think, John is 
deeply in love with Priscilla ; nevertheless, under his 
love of obligation to the Captain, he don't exhibit any 
signs of it. By his last talk the Captain, though angry, 
appears to have exonerated John from all future obliga- 
tions to him, as if he had given up his suit to Priscilla ; 
and they, as I think, are at liberty to so regard it. 
Hence they are free. Still, they say, John has resolved 
this night to take the ship. I 'm no prophet, but I 
seem to know that before the year is to an eend John 'U 
be back agin. He loves Priscilla, and he '11 come back. 
Mutual lovers never lose their memories. {Curtain. 

[A clamorous cry without^ — All aboard! Ahoa! 
Ahoa 1 Ahoa I — with a rattling noise of cables. 

Scene VI, Seashore and ship. 

{John Hearing the ship, Priscilla nearing him, interpos- 
ing.) 

Priscilla (beseechingly beckoning him). John, my dear 
John, stay a little ! stay a little ! and then, if you must, you 
may go ! Tarry with your Priscilla one moment. Please, 
please, will you, John ? Come back to me when the cold 
frosts of night shall have vanished, when the lilies we 've 
seen shall bloom again upon the waters. Come back to 
me then. Come back, John ! O do come back / 

I '11 make the gateway wild with flowers, 

I '11 know the very midnight hours, 

Waiting, John, waiting I '11 be, for thy coming ! 



46 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

John {exclaiming). Protection, O God ! give it to me 
and to my dear Priscilla ! Come back ? Yes, I '11 
come back now. \He falls into her arms ^ \Curtain. 

\Music lively. 
Scene VII. 

Brewster. The provocations incidental to this new 
world tend greatly to discourage us. No luxuries of 
life can we have, no conveniences, no travelling facili- 
ties, not a horse, nor a carriage, no domestic animals, 
in fact, save that milk-white bull and other cattle still 
held at the ship, which brought our Winslow from be- 
yond the seas. [Enter Susanna. 

Susanna. Elder Brewster, I am just now up from 
the seashore. That love affair between your dear 
grand-daughter, as we have learned, has been going on 
swimmingly. There 's to be a marriage, depend upon 
it ; it is near at hand. And then, of course, you, from 
your relationship and position, will have the honor and 
pleasure of solemnizing the nuptials. 

Brewster. But, may I inquire, are the two lovers 
still remaining at the beach ? 

Susanna. They are still there. Priscilla had has- 
tened from the home of her grandfather, had wended her 
way through that rocky, briery pathway, two long miles 
to the ship, to save to herself her dear John Alden. 

Brewster. Are they still alone, or have they attend- 
ants? 

Susanna. Not alone, sir. The incidents have at- 
tracted many a kind friend, who are there in deep sym- 
pathetic interest, and who are already tendering their 
kind offices to the alliance with congratulations, 

Brewster, Why do they tarry at the shore ? 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 4/ 

Susanna. Their stay there will be brief. Thy are 
preparing preliminaries for the nuptial hour. Priscilla 
was much overcome, much exhausted by her long race 
to the ship. And I surmise that her John, moved of 
his gratitude and love, is arranging to honor her, by his 
gallantry in conveying her home in a manner becoming 
to the occasion, and in accordance to his own amorous 
sense of duty. 

Brewster. Is there to be an escort ? In our dearth 
what is to be the mode of conveyance ? 

Susanna. An escort, of course, yet for the want of 
numbers it must necessarily be small. The conveyance 
most likely will be obtained by the yoking up of the 
heifers at the ship, or in some other way such as John 
with his friends in their taste may invent. The nup- 
tials must come off immediately. When love meets 
love, then, I 'm sure, something must, must be done at 
once. Prepare for the nuptials. 

\Curtain. Music. Rejoicings without^ shouts of 
laughter and conviviality^ all singing^ 

[Curtain rises, and all casting flowers to the bride 
dressed in scarlet and riding upon a snow-white bull, and 
all repeating the song, till the party on its way disappears?^ 

Oh hie thee to the wedding-day, 

That day of all the best ; 
Fling high y'r flowerets all the way 

In vernal beauty dressed." 

The bridal lass upon the bull, 

How joyfully caressed ! 
Of life and love the soul is full. 

To make Priscilla blest. 

Snodgrass. I '11 stand by the helm ! {Catching and 
swinging the bull by the tail as he disappears?) [Curtain. 



ACT III. 
Scene I. A Cot Kitchen. 

Brewster (alone). Great doubts, great fears are still 
hovering about us. Sure signs of peace are as nothing- 
ness in the midst of barbarisms. Still, in such condi- 
tion concessions even are better than cruelties ; may 
prove more advisable, commendable. At least may 
they tend to divest folly of many of its dire disasters. 
Rumors of hostilities, of clandestine cruelties constantly 
perpetrated, are but sure signs of carnage deeper dyed, 
and more terrible. But we shall see. 

[Enter Snodgrass. 

Snodgrass. How now, Elder Brewster? You are 
outliving most of the settlers of the " Mayflower." Say, 
what do ye think now of this Injun business ? of this 
ere Pilgrim life any how ? Say, don't ye sometimes 
in y'r old age begin to feel kind 'er crop sick ? I 
mean kind'er skittish, as if ye sorter wanted to step 
right out and give it up, and then that ye kind'er 
did n't ? My old grandfather was one on 'um. He 
allays used to be telling Injun stories, bear stories, and 
love stories, ha ! ha I ha ! Old friend, did ye ever fall 
in love ? and that, too, when ye did n't know just then 
what to do about it, and kind 'er could n't. I '11 tell ye 
what. I accidentally tumbled into that dangerous con- 
dition once. I did. It gives- a fellow a confounded 
48 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 49 

all-overishness sensation, and then I went straight off 
and married Huldah. But after all y'r love, y'r bad 
luck, and y'r good luck, tins new world, as they call it, 
is of no great account anyhow. Injuns are every day 
creeping, skirmishing, shinning about^ fagoting, mur- 
dering, and kidnapping. And what are we going to 
do ? If I were governor I 'd give 'um pudden ; I 'd 
give 'um a plenty on't, hot, right straight into their 
cursed bread-baskets. \Enter Mason.] What's up, 
now ? {Enter Wequash and Underhill. 

Mason. Major, we hear that in Wethersfield six men 
and three women have been killed, that two young 
girls are carried away captive, and that near the same 
settlements a horse and twenty cows have been killed 
by the tribes. \_Exit. 

Underhill. Major Snodgrass, allow me to introduce 
to you Wequash, a leader of the Narragansetts. Our 
Governor has commissioned you, also Captain Mason 
and me to aid you, in a campaign against the Pequots. 
{They greet each other.'] Major Snodgrass, I have from 
the Governor a communication committed to my charge 
to be delivered to you {giving him the orders). 

Snodgrass (breaks the seal and returning them). Please 
read : 

Underhill (reads) : — 

" The Governor of Plymouth Colony to Major EUhu 
Snodgrass, greeting. These are your orders. 

" You will proceed forthwith with the large force of 
Englishmen and friendly Indians, which we have 
deemed expedient to confide to your command, with 
the direction that you are to advance and take the great 
Pequot fort on the Mystic. You are to destroy it, giv- 



50 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

ing to that nation no quarter. Their women and chil- 
dren have been sent away, — so says Miantonimo. 
The Narragansetts under Wequash, and the Mohegans 
under Uncas in large numbers are to be there re-en- 
forcing your gallant Englishmen, under the immediate 
lead of Captains Underbill and Mason. Advance at 
once, slay and destroy the Pequots as above directed. 
This being done, you will return through the Nip-muck 
country, drive out murderers everywhere, sparing none 
save women and children. Take this to be your war- 
rant. By the Governor, 

With advice of Council." 

Snodgrass. Now I am Major Snodgrass, and, faith, 
we '11 levy war on 'um, turning 'um eend for eend, we '11 
drive 'um out pellmell and all together. But haste not 
too much. Fighting must be done prudently {turning 
to Wequash). Wequash, you are to lead the Narragan- 
setts ; and Captain Mason, you, leading the English, 
will be joined by Uncas with the Mohegans. Captain 
Underbill, being best fed, will lead the assault. I '11 — 
— I '11 attend to our business affairs a little on behind. 
Away now ; take charge of your commands ; assail the 
Pequots; go straight in for their bread-baskets. Mark 
time ! The band will play " God Save the King." 

[^Exeunt. 

[Three old tin whistles are sounded. Markhig time 
with music.l [Curtain, 

Scene II. Officers' Headquarters, Major Snodgrass 
seated with Hooke. Enter Mason atid Underhill. 

Mason (to Snodgrass). Major Snodgrass, Captain 
Underhill and myself are at hand here, as you know, 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 5 1 

with the English forces. We are stationed in this val- 
ley; we also have a re-enforcement of a long train of 
Mohegans and Narragansetts, under the gallant chiefs, 
Uncas and Wequash. "We are ready for orders. Now 
Major, how must the fort be taken ? 

Snodgrass. Taken ? It 's to be besieged ! Storm 
it ! Fight valiantly, gallantly ! Be heroes, as we are 
always heroes. Glorious heroes, as on Block Island, 
when we conquered the Indians, killed the corn, and 
shot the dogs. 

Hooke, You killed the spaniels. But why didn't 
you kill the Indians. 

Snodgrass. They wa'nt there. They — or — that is 
to say, they in due care had taken to their heels. We 
conquered the Injuns heroically. 

Hooke. Then you did n't have a very great battle. 

Snodgrass. Well, ye see, our forces were magnani- 
mous, we had a fellow-feeling, but we valiantly destroyed 
a field of corn, and shot six dogs dead ; that is to say, 
sbme of the dogs {hesitating) were dead before ; I guess 
they kind 'er had starved to death, but we shot 'um. 

Hooke. Then sure — sure it was the dogs surren- 
dered. 

Snodgrass. Yes, we gave 'um the powder pugna- 
ciously — straight into their carcasses. 

Underhill. Well, Major, we must move. Who of us 
must lead the assault upon the fort ? 

Snodgrass. Captains Underhill and Mason will lead. 
You will assault 'um at both eends at the same time. 
Pelt 'um and pudden 'um, dogs and all. Meantime, I 
will linger a little hereabouts, — that is to say, I will 
take charge of the ammunition, and take good care of 



52 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

the pudden. Yes, that 's best. I will forcibly defend 
the rear. 

Mason (to Uiiderhill). May we advance ? 

Underhill. We will {turning to Uncas a7id WequasH). 
Now for the battle ! Will you stand your ground ? 
Will you fight valiantly, as brave heroes ? 

Uncas. Me will. 

Wequash. Me will, too. \Music. 

Mason. Forward, then, to your commands. 

Underhill. March. [Exeunt, markiftg time. Curtain. 

Scene III. Tent in the Woods. 

Brewster. Night, night, dreary upon us hangs ; yet 
morn, as in God we trust, will soon dawn. It will 
dawn, as we may humbly trust, upon the bold achieve- 
ments of this night, and of this our Saxon race. This 
war and blood is but a part of discipline, needed of 
mortals preparatory to progress in our faith, and to a 
better civilization. It doth but foreshadow proud pur- 
poses to the advancement of religious economy in this 
our new world. We, through faith, see it in ourselves 
and in the ways of Him who led Israel like a flock. 

We have faith that our God at length, through these 
trying, troublesome instrumentalities, will manifest Him- 
self to the extermination of this savage, wandering hea- 
then race, who now war against us ; and also to the 
triumphant increase and advancement of our prolific 
pilgrim people. {Enter Hypsaheth. 

Hypsabeih (lame and out of breath). Dear Brewster, 
awful ominous things are upon us this very night. Out, 
not afar off, this wilderness is full of fighting men, — 
English, Mohegans, Narragansetts, — armed with fire- 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 53 

locks, tomahawks, and deadly sabres. The great God 
have mercy, mercy on us ! Oh, how that sight did and 
does frighten me ! Silently, secretly, that army of war- 
riors were moving (as I past) just above here, out to- 
wards the great Indian Pequot Fort. 

Brewster. Yes, they are to destroy the fort, and 
that murderous heathen, Pequot nation, too. 

Hypsabeth. Oh ! Alas ! Alas ! Destroying the fort 
will arouse them to dread revenge, — to murderous 
bloodshed. Oh, spare me ! I see it ! The destruction 
of that fort will provoke the heartless savages to turn 
about and murder us all ! 

Brewster. No danger, madam ; no danger, I trust. 
We '11 trust in Him who has a care for us, ruling over 
us. Not even the sparrow falls uncared for of him. 
There '11 be lives enough to be endangered, anger 
enough, and blood enough at the camp-fires ; ah ! 
enough to do also, and they '11 have no temptation, no 
occasion to come here to murder us. Enough of war, 
enough of dire distress and of wailings, enough of dark 
death. Indeed, they '11 never more trouble us. 

Hypsabeth. Come? a savage can come or go any 
where ! That fort has in it more than six hundred of 
them. Oh, what a bloody night for all those poor pa- 
gans, of all ages, untaught, uncivilized! Poor, poor 
creatures, they know not of the dread thunder-cloud 
that hangs over them. 

Brewster. It will be a surprise upon them ; their 
two gateways, at this late hour, will be unguarded, un- 
defended. You, I take it, are in the habit of making 
the tribes presents, and hence they would not be unkind 
to you. 



54 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Hypsabeth, My family assumes to be loyal and kind 
to the natives. We never cross their paths without due 
consideration, yet we are constantly fearful. But what, 
oh, what shall we do now that open hostilities are com- 
menced. Oh ! they '11 turn upon us. 

Brewster. Depend upon it Hypsabeth, you need not 
be afraid. There will be enough left of the English 
forces to save us from harm, and provide for your pro- 
tection. Take courage, madam, take courage. \Exit. 
Here the barking of a dog is heard in the distance^ and the 
cry of'-'' Wanux! Wannx!^'* (the English ! the English ./)> 
and the war-whoops " Woach ! woach ! ha! ha / ha I back I 
woach I " and their wood-cry ^ " Fo hau ! fo hau I " 
All yelling together in the distance^ amid the popping of 
viusketry^ with occasiofial fashes of the conflagration. 
Curtain. A dirge?\ 

Scene same, 

Brewster. No trace, no trace, will this deadly night 
leave to that hostile heathen Pequot nation. Fortunate 
was it, — nay, perhaps, unfortunate, — for Sassacus, the 
old Pequot chief at the deadly onset, that he was away, 
— not being there himself within the fortress. Fortu- 
nate, that his tired limbs were resting, and that his 
eager eyes were securely slumbering outside of the great 
fort. Unfortunate, mayhap, that he himself did not fall 
by the deadly sabre ; that his ashes did not mingle with 
the ashes of his wigwams, with the smouldering rubbish 
of his -tents and of his slaughtered tribes. Being away, 
he and his body-guard, escaping fire and sword, are 
doomed. A death more terrible, if possible, still not 
far distant, awaits his wanderings. [Lamentations with- 



THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 55 

ouf.] Oh ! in the air, in the clouds, I hear him now 
from without. [Sassacus and Weetamoo^ in agony ^ are 
seen skulking^ several Indians following ihemi] 

Sassacus. Oh ! ho ! ho ! Me children, me sons, me 
daughters, me brothers, me nation, and me all, in smoke 
and ashes. 

Hypsabeth {exclaiming loudly). Sassacus ! Oh, Sas- 
sacus ! For thee my heart is in sympathy. Pity, pity 
overcomes me. Mercy to man, though he may never, 
never show it himself, does and must move this heart of 
mine. Fly, Sassacus, fly ! Fly from your foes ! The 
English are still seeking your blood ! Life is sweet, 
fly 1 All fly ! [ With a bewailiftg yell they all escape save 
the young squaw.'] 

Weetamoo, {agonizing^ starting away^ but returning). 
Fly ? Fly from where ? From this me own heritage ? 
From the green hunting-ground of me father ; from the 
wild wigwam of my dear, dear old mother, slain ? No ! 
no ! Sassacus may fly. I *11 never^ never fly. No ! 
No! No! 

" I will go to my tent ! I '11 lie down in despair ! 
I '11 paint me in black, and will sever my hair ! 
I will sit on the shore, where the hurricane blows. 
And I '11 tell to the god of the tempest my woes ! 
I will weep for a season on bitterness fed, 
For my kindred have gone to the mounds of the dead. 
They died not of hunger, nor wasting decay. 
The steel of the white man hath swept them away." 

\Curtain, 

Brewster. So it proves — Sassacus was fated. He 

hath brought to the world a sad, sad lesson. A lesson 

among many, wherein the wrath of man hath been per- 



56 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

mitted to prevail over his better passions, and where 
progress in civilization, as well as in the economy of 
life, hath failed of its purpose ; through which an entire 
nation, slaughtered in one night, hath fallen never again 
to rise, never again of earth to be seen. 

[Enter Snodgrass, listening, 

" Undaunted on their foes they fiercely flew — 

As fierce the dusky warriors braved the fight 
Despair inspires ; to combat's face they glue, — 

With groans and shouts they fought, unknowing flight. 
Indulge, for Sassacus, indulge a tear, 

That steals impassioned o'er a nation's doom ; 
To me each twig from Adam's race is near ; " 

My soul bewails an Indian's tragic tomb. 

Snodgrass. Yes ; and the Mohawks have something 
to do with it. His bleeding scalp they already have on 
hand to be returned to the English in Boston. Thus 
death, death's sweet deliverance, hath come to the 
Pequots. Ours, ours is the victory. Hurra! hurra 
for us, for y'r gallant Englishman, Mohegans, and 
Narragansetts, Hurrah! We've killed the Pequots. 
We've burnt, we 've demolished 'um, egg, nest and bird. 

Hooke. But who, may it plaise y'r worship, do you 
purport to be ? What part in the fight did you take ? 
And by faith, I belave, indade, ye did nothing at all in 
the fight. Nothing at all, at all. \Tur7iijig to leave. 

Snodgrass. Stay a moment. Understand, Mister 
Landsman, I am Major Elihu Snodgrass, of the allied 
armies of English, Mohegans, and Narragansetts. 
{Standing out erect.] I am the Major who defended the 
camp, took good keer of the ammunition, hunted up the 
cowards by hugging hard to the line of safety, and 



I 



il ' 




THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION. 57 

brought up the rear. Now, Mr. Landsman, go along 
with y'r impudence ; treat y'rself to a convenient code 
of better manners. \Enter Hypsabeth, excited. 

Hypsabeth. Oh, my \ my Lord ! I am so out of 
breath. Only think, the bloody Mohegans are coming 
up this way. They and the Narragansetts have been 
chasing the fugitive flying Pequots down the Mystic, 
out through the woods for a mile. They 've slain them 
all, — fled, flying, — and now they're returning, exult- 
ant, rampant. Oh, hark ! the war-path is alive with 
them. \The war-whoop and voices are heard in the dis- 
tance^ Hark ! they are returning to their war-dance. 
celebrating the victory. List! Oh, list, they are coming ! 
The very heavens are full of their blood-stained rejoic- 
i ngs. [Elated they all, led by a chief bearing a scalp aloft^ 
eiiter carousing and dancings amid occasional muttering 
thimders, variously bearing in their hands tomahawks, 
scalp ing-knives, sabres, scalps, dvr., which, as they arrive 
in succession, they throw into a pile, uniting at the same 
time ill a war dance, singing as they dance] : — 

Brave Sassacus, far known of fame, 

A bowman brave in tragic war. 
Out from his soul a deadly stain 

Doth weep from many a seam and scar. 

No war-path wild, nor tent, nor tribe. 

Beneath the purple pilgrim sky 
To him remains. In tragic pride, 

The nation and the tyrant die. 

Ho ! down with all the traitor knaves. 
The heartless tyrant stained of gore ; 

And let them fill dishonored graves, 
To afflict the nations never more. 



58 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Give battle brave ! but spare the wise 
Invoke the light of Heaven above, 

And let the native nations rise 

To life's rejoicings, peace, and love. 



,*|,\,|li jlIU} 




Drama No. 2. . . . Battle of the Bush.—Miantonimo. 



MIANTONIMO. 

(N. E.) 

an ?gtsitorical ©rama. 

[years 1637 AND 1649.] 

By ROBERT B. CAVERLY, 

Poet and Historian. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

Eliot ........ Apostle. 

Pessacus . . Son of Miantonimo. 
Frank Felton . Young Lawyer. 
Angeline . . His Affianced Bride. 
Dea. Avery .... The Father. 

Quaker Lawyer, 

Stanton .... Colonial Agent. 
Sick Man .... Daddy O'Brien. 

Wintiirop Governor. 

Ninigret Indian. 

Jailor Hartford, 

Miantonimo . . The Narragansett 
Chief. 
attendants. 
Wawequa, Nanuntenoo, Catapazet, Nora, Michael's Wife, The 
Commissioner, Captain Dennison, and the Ghost. 



Roger Williajvis, English Settler. 
Canonicus . . . An Old Sachem. 
Michael, \ 

Peter, > . . . . Irish Actors, 
Agnis, ) 

Mossup Indian, 

Mason Captain, 

Uncas Mohegan Chief, 

Stubbs .... a Quaker Insurer. 
Passaconaway . Necromancer. 
Shipmaster . . , 
Gardner .... English Officer. 



BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED BY B. B. RUSSELL. 

1886. 



CONTENTS. 



Roger Williams and Canonicus 

Canonicus accuses the White Man as being ten times Wicked 

Treaty — Narragansetts with the English .... 

Uncas promises Fealty to the White Man 

Shipmaster engages to redeem and return two Captives 

Frank Felton and his Angehne .... 

Mossup accuses Ninigret of Hostilities 

Ninigret interrogated as to his Alliance with the Dutch 

Miantonimo accused by Uncas ; Uncas wounded 

Governor Winthrop inquires, Miantonimo answers 

Avery and Angeline in the Kitchen ; talk of her Al 

The two Girl Captives ; on Shipboard . 

From Sachem's Plain the Narragansetts are seen 

Miantonimo invades the Mohegans 

Battle — the Treachery of Uncas 

Miantonimo a Prisoner in Hartford Jail . 

Nanuntenoo pursued, seized, and slain 

Angeline, Frank, and the Wedding 

Commissioners try Miantonimo, and doom him to 

Two Quakers in Trade and in Trouble . 

Martin O'Flannigan's Will a Forgery 

Making of the Dead Man's Will by Daddy O'Brien 

An Irish Wake that followed the Death 

Miantonimo taken from Hartford Jail and 

Slam, and buried on Sachem's Plain 



die 



I- 



PAGB 

. 80 



82 
83 

86 
87 
89 
90 
92 
93 
94 
95 
96 

97 
98 
100 
104 
105 
107 
112 
116 



Copyrighted by the Author, 1884. All Rights Reserved. 



BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 



THE NARRAGANSETTS AND MOHEGANS. 

LEGEND NO. 2. 

In New England, Miantonimo a sagamore of much 
merit had, as early as 1632, become conspicuous. With 
features bold and bony; dark hair and long; tall, and 
beardless and with copper complexion, and a generous 
heart, he stood forth among the tribes a stately priest, 
He lived in intimate relations with the Pilgrim Puritan 
Race, whom he favored as prudently he might, as well 
as with that Narragansett Nation, whom he ultimately 
led in the wilderness as a commander-in-chief. 

Miantonimo's father was the famous Mascus ; his 
brothers were Mossup and Pessicus. The renowned 
Canonicus was his uncle, who had been a Narragansett 
chief, and consequently one of our hero's cotemporary 
advisers. For long years, he found favor from the 
Colonial Governors of Massachusetts, New Haven, 
Rhode Island, and Connecticut, as well as from Roger 
Williams of famous memory, and Major Waldron of 
Cocheco. All these were among Miantonimo's favorite 
friends. 

In early life this chief had wooed and wedded Wawal- 
son; and for many years in pompous pride he loved 

61 



62 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

and ruled and led the Narragansetts of New England. 
His brother Mossup fell, having been slain in the 
forests at Cocheco, about the year 1678, and was 
taken up and tenderly buried there with honors by 
Major Waldron,* out of his respect for Miantonimo. 
And of this, in another place, we have sung : — 

Oh, tell me, true, if well ye may, 

Since tribe and pilgrim hither met, 
How generations lived their day. 
How each in turn have passed away, 
But where, oh where, — untold as yet. 

Of all that host, some knowledge lend, 

That from the world the years have hurried, 

Say what of Waldron, — what his end. 

Old Miantonimo his friend, 

And Mossup slain yet kindly buried ?f 

Many are the incidents that cluster around the tragi- 
cal life of Miantonimo. The fond old matron that had 
cradled his infancy had crossed the vast river to an un- 
known wilderness, long before his heroic life had been 
fanned into its full manliness. Yet still did the mantle 
of her own faith and valor rest upon her noble son. 
With woman's maternal care she had cradled him ; 
but in that hour little could she know or foresee of the 
career, the force, the faith, or the final fate of his man- 
hood. Nor in the midst of startling events could that 
mother have perceived or anticipated that power for 
good to her race and to its civilization, which was then 
being fostered in the heart and soul of that tawny little 
boy, — her own Miantonimo. 

•Drake's History, Book I., page 58 ; Book II., page 38, note, 
t From Caverly's Epics, page 2SS. 



THE NARRAGANSETTS AND MOHEGANS. 6^ 

Yet soon this lad was to be a man, and then soon to 
be made Chief of the Narragansetts. This nation was 
well known to be the foremost of all the New England 
tribes, — for true it was, they excelled all in morals, in 
manliness, and in good manners. 

Miantonimo in early life, as we have said, became a 
sagamore favored of Canonicus ; and through the long 
life of that venerable chief they, at the head of the 
Narragansetts, hand in hand advanced. Durfee poet- 
ically honors them thus : — 

" Two mighty chiefs, one cautious, wise, and bold, 
One young and strong and terrible in fight. 
All Narragansett and Coweset hold ; 

One lodge they build, one council fire they light." 

Indian territories were held by descent and by con- 
quest — one tribe from another. Their laws were un- 
written, their courts were governed by force of naked 
truths and natural justice. In their talks and trials the 
braves were the orators, and the women in their reten- 
tive memories kept a record or memoranda of all their 
proceedings. 

'T was thus o'er land and sea for ages long 

A race of redmen, vagrant, passed along, 

With language tauglit from rustic Nature's throne. 

And habits each peculiarly their own ; 

On growth spontaneous fed, content with prey. 

What serves the purpose of a single day. 

Their god is seen afar at rise of sun. 

Their life in heaven is hunting here begun. 

By laws unwritten sachems rule the tribes. 

And lead the host wherever ill betides 

To fatal war. By force of arrows hurled. 

They reigned sole monarchs in this western world. ♦ 
* From my Epics, page 336. 



64 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Hence, as it seems, and as history has it, the tribes 
in Narragansett, and all along the borders of Connec- 
ticut and Rhode Island, held their lands, — some by 
inheritance, some by possession, and some by the strong 
arm of conquest. At one time there was a tract of 
about two thousand acres, which had been obtained 
and was owned by Miantonimo from the Pequot Nation, 
under their chief Socho. And not long after the death 
of Miantonimo his squaw asserted her claim to it by a 
certificate as follows : — 

" I Wanaloam do affirm it, to be Socho's or his as- 
signs. And further, whereas my uncle Ninegret sayeth 
that it is his land, I do utterly deny it before all men ; 
for it was conquered by my husband Miantonimo and 
my uncle Canonicus long before the English had any 
wars with the Pequots."* 

So also did the conquerors (as was then the custom), 
hold their conquered enemies and appropriated them 
as property. Hence, all the survivors of the Pequot 
nation, after the terrible battle on the night and morn- 
ing of the 26th of May, 1637 (on the Mystic), were kept 
divided between the Narragansetts, the Mohegans, and 
English (the allied forces), and for a long time after- 
wards they held some of the Pequots as slaves. 

Miantonimo, with Canonicus, was strong and valiant. 
He had fought successfully against the invasions of the 
Pequots in 1635, ^^ which time two of his sons with 
Canonicus were wounded. 

About the same time he had made war upon the 
Wampanoags. But, through the intercession of Roger 
Williams, peace was obtained, which not only proved 

* See Drake's Indians, Book II., page 105. 








THE KED IMAN. 



THE NARRAGANSETTS AND MOHEGANS. 65 

satisfactory to the contending tribes, but honorable 
and, perchance, profitable, to this great peacemaker 
himself. 

Of the renowned Canonicus, Lathrop hath sung: — 

"A mighty prince of venerable age,* 

A peerless warrior, but of peace tl:e friend, 
His breast a treasury of maxims sage. 
His arm a host to punish or defend." 

And by the same poet the death of the venerable 
chieftain is announced : — 

" I die my friends ; you have no cause to grieve, 
To abler hands my regal power I leave. 
Our God commands ; to fertile realms I haste, 
Compared with which your gardens are a waste. 
There in full bloom eternal spring abides. 
And swarming fishes glide through azure tides, 
Continued sunshine gilds the cloudless skies, 
No mists conceal Keesuckquand from our eyes." 

In 1642 Connecticut became suspicious of Mianto- 
nimo, probably by reason of his address, which we 
here quote, and urged Massachusetts to make war 
against him. They doubtless hesitated, but sent for 
him. When he came, says Winthrop, " the court was 
assembled, and before he was admitted he was set down 
at the lower end of the table, over against the governor, 
but would not at any time speak upon business, unless 
some of his counsellors were present ; saying he would 
have them present^ that they might bear witness with 
him, at his return home, of all his sayings." " In all 
his answers he was very deliberate, and showed good 

* Canonicus died at the age of 84 years. 



66 BATTLE OF THE BUbri. 

understanding in the principles of justice and equity 
and ingenuity witlial.'' 

Miantonimo did not like it, that at dinner, a table 
was set for him and his men by itself; and "he would 
not eat until some food had been sent him from that of 
the Governor." 

WIANDANCE. 

Wiandance was once at variance with Miantonimo. 
Yet Miantonimo trusted him at one time with a troop 
of men, and visited him on the east end of Long Island 
at a place called Meanticut. He made him presents, 
and was reported to have addressed him thus : — 

"Brothers, we must be one as the English are; or we 
shall soon all be destroyed. You know our fathers had 
plenty of deer and skins, and our plains were full of 
deer and of turkeys, and our coves and rivers were full 
oifish. But, brothers^ since these English have seized 
upon our country, they 've cut down the grass with 
scythes and the trees with axes ; their cows and 
horses have eaten up our grass, and their hogs have 
spoiled our bed of clams ; and finally we shall starve to 
death ! Therefore, stand no longer in your own light ; 
resolve with us to act like men. All the sachems to 
the east and west will join with us, and we will all re- 
solve to fall upon them at a day appointed. Therefore 
I have come to you, because you can persuade the In- 
dians to do what you will. Brothers, I will send over 
fifty Indians to Manisses, and thirty to you from thence, 
and take an hundred of South Hampton Indians, with 
an hundred of your own here. And when you see the 
three fires that will be made at the end of forty days 
hence, in a clear night, then act as we say, and the next 



THE NARRAGANSETTS AND MOHEGANS. 6^ 

day we '11 fall upon them ; but kill no cows, they must 
be used, as we need them, for provisions till the deer 
shall come again." - 

This was in 1640, and the story of this address some- 
what aroused the English against Miantonimo; yet 
upon an investigation in Boston two years later it ap- 
peared that there was nothing wrongful intended on 
the part of their old friend and chieftain, Miantonimo. 
Still there appeared to be strife beginning to be inflamed 
between him and the Mohegans in Connecticut, through 
the unpardonable animosity and depredations of Uncas 
upon Sequassan, a sagamore who was then in alliance 
with Miantonimo. Sequassan, being accused by Uncas, 
refused to submit the matter to the English under a 
prior treaty, but appealed to his chief, Miantonimo. A 
story was set afloat against Miantonimo, which appeared 
to be entirely groundless ; to wit, that he had procured 
the Mohawks from the borders of New York, to come 
down to make invasion upon Uncas and upon the Eng- 
lish settlements here. 

Upon these rumors, charging Miantonimo with an in- 
tended invasion and rebellion against the four colonies, 
he was forthwith summoned to Boston. Appearing there 
before the Governor, Miantonimo demanded that his 
accusers should be called in, that they might meet him 
face to face. " I declare," said he, " that Uncas is 
busy in malicious slanders. That he, with the saga- 
mores of the Mohegans, are my enemies. Let my 
accusers come in here. If I am in the wrong, let me 
suffer; but if they are false and at fault, let justice bt 
done, — let them be put to death." 

Upon the investigation nothing of importance waj 



6S BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

proved against either. But from that hour, Uncas and 
Miantonimo were enemies. Hence one evening, while 
Uncas was passing from one wigwam to another, an 
arrow, which flew in the dark, penetrated his arm, 
being shot from an unknown hand. It inflicted a pain- 
ful wound. Upon investigation a young Pequot was 
suspected, an unusual quantity of wampum being found 
upon him. By this, suspicion was aroused. The Pe- 
quot, as if guilty, fled away to the Narragansetts, taking 
refuge under the protection of Miantonimo. 

Thereupon Uncas again complained of Miantonimo, 
who was again summoned before the Colonists at Bos- 
ton, and an investigation was again had, but to little 
purpose. There was nothing in the case which tended 
to prove that Miantonimo had any animosity against 
the English, or that he actually had caused any tres- 
pass to be committed upon Uncas. Yet much enmity 
continued to exist between Sequassan, sachem of the 
tribes of f/ie river country in Connecticut, and Mian- 
tonimo. Soon, then, as it happened, a Mohegan, a 
relative, was slain. Uncas thereafterwards invaded 
Sequassan with a Mohegan force, which very much 
offended Miantonimo. At which he complained to 
Governor Haynes of Connecticut, as against Uncas, for 
his open hostilities against Sequassan and his allies, the 
tribes on Connecticut River. To which the Governor 
replied substantially that the English, having no provo- 
cation in the conflict, did not mean to take any part in it. 
Miantonimo also notified Governor Winthrop at Boston 
of these invasions of Uncas, and earnestly inquired 
"whether the people of the Massachusetts Bay would 
be offended if he should make war upon Uncas." He 



THE NARRAGANSETTS AND MOHEGANS. 69 

was informed substantially that the English would leave 
him to take his own course. Thus had Miantonimo 
complied with his treaty of 1638 ; and thereupon he 
prepared for war. Then, in the progress of time, on 
a fair summer morning, in the year 1643, the Indian 
sentinels on the Connecticut hills near Norwich beheld 
in the distance an army of Narragansetts emerging 
from the woods, thence crossing the river Shetucket, 
and fording it, just above its junction with the Quin- 
nibaug, and thence winding along downward towards 
that since renowned battlefield. Sachem's Plain. This 
startling advent soon reached the warriors in the 
Mohegan wigwams on the hill-sides, and along the 
banks of the Thames ; and all the Mohegan forces, 
from their fort five miles below (what is now Nor- 
wich), sprang forth to give battle to the Narragansetts. 
The lofty old woods then rang once again, reverber- 
ating the wild war-whoop and the terrific Indian battle- 
cry.* Uncas rallied, and from their various tents in 
the dark forest even, they swarmed forth and joined 
in the advance upon the Narragansetts. 

This chief had invented a deception, of which his 
Mohegan force had been informed and had been 
trained upon a given signal to be enforced. The 
Indian armies, having neared each other, Uncas de- 
spatched a messenger to Miantonimo, asking an inter- 
view and talk with him in advance of the battle. Uncas 
was to ask a question, and he knew what the answer 
would be. Thereupon the armies advanced face to 
face, — the two veteran chiefs, in gorgeous plumes and 
colors, stood at the front between them. 

* Winthrop, Vol. II., page 129. 



70 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

" Now," said Uncas, " what is the use, Miantonimo, for 
you and me to cause to be slain all these men ? Let 
us fight it out ourselves. If you kill me, my men shall 
be yours ; if I kill you, your men shall be mine." A 
breathless silence here pervaded the opposing ranks as 
they awaited the answer. 

"My men," said Miantonimo, "came to fight and 
they shall fight." At this, Uncas fell, face to the 
ground ; and quick as sight his Mohegans let fly a 
thousand arrows to the heads and hearts of the Narra- 
gansetts. Uncas sprang to his feet, and his warriors 
pealing forth the yell of battle, and brandishing their 
tomahawks, rushed forward with him upon their stag- 
gering, flying enemy. They drove the Narragansetts 
with impetuous fury. Some they chased into the shal- 
lows of the river, and some fell on the way, and some 
were driven and scattered variously into the vast wil- 
derness. 

All over that rude hilly country, back from Sachem's 
Plain (as tradition tells it) foe upon foe leaping over the 
rocks, they dashed through the thicket like wolves in 
chase of the timid deer. 

Miantonimo in his flight was inipeded by an English 
corslet, which he had around him as a protection in 
battle. Two of the Mohegans followed him closely, 
and running against him and continually jostling him 
as he ran, impeded and prevented his escape, purposely 
reserving to their sachem the honor of taking that old 
warrior with his own hand. 

One of these Indians that followed the flying chief- 
tain was the sagamore, Tantaquigeon, whose descend- 
ants were long talked of among the natives, and his 



THE NARRAGANSIiTTS AND MOHEGANS. Jl 

renown for a long time was a matter of boast among 
the Mohegans. 

Uncas soon overtook them ; and as soon as the ill- 
fated Miantonimo felt the hand of his enemy upon him, 
he at once, faltering, sat down upon the ground. But 
from his closed lips not a word came out, nay, not even 
a sigh from that heart that then bled within him. 

Many of the Narragansetts had been slain. All the 
rest, without an efifort to wipe out their disgrace, or 
to rescue their cajDtured sachem, in scattered squads 
retreated to their various "prescribed dominions." 
Miantonimo remained silent, although some of his own 
followers were brought up and tomahawked before his 
eyes. 

Uncas was disappointed in not being able to draw 
out from him a single confession of weakness or fear. 
" Why do ye not speak ? " said Uncas. " If you had 
taken nu\ I should have besought you for my Ufey 

But he returned no answer. 

This old chief was thence in triumph carried to a 
fortress, and was there held imprisoned. A truce was 
opened between the tribes, to remain while the pri- 
soner remained there at the fort. 

The Narragansetts sent their chief several packages 
of wampum while he remained in custody, which the 
prisoner gave away, — some to Uncas, some to Uncas's 
wife, and some to his favorite counsellors. 

The English in Rhode Island took sides in favor of 
the imprisoned sachem. They believed him mainly in 
the right. Through a long lifetime he had won their 
good will. 

Thereupon one Samuel Gorton, an enthusiast, yet 



72 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

kind-hearted, in behalf of that people, besought Uncas 
to liberate him. Uncas refused, but finally referred the 
matter to his old friends, the English of Connecticut, as 
to whether he should try still to hold him, release, or 
put him to death. 

While this matter was maturing before the English 
authorities, it had been affirmed by the adherents of 
Uncas, falsely we have no doubt, that Miantonimo had 
engaged the Mohawks to join him, and that they were 
then encamped within a day's journey of the frontier, 
and were awaiting his liberation. 

From all this the English record was being made up 
against Miantonimo, who for a lifetime had extended 
to the English settlers in New England many favors, 
and it resulted thus : — 

"These things being duly weighed and considered, 
the commissioners apparently see that Uncas cannot 
be safe while Miantonimo lives ; but that, either by 
secret treachery or open force, his life will be still in 
danger. 

"Wherefore they think he may justly put such a false 
and bloody enemy to death, but within his own jurisdic-. 
tion, not in the English plantations ; and advise as to 
the manner of his death, that all mercy and moderation 
be showed, contrary to the practice of the Indians, who 
exercise cruelties." 

Yet before dismissing the Narragansett deputies, who 
with earnest solicitation attended upon the trial, the 
commissioners induced them to subscribe to articles of 
agreement, as follows : — 

"That they (the Narragansetts) would not make war 
upon Uncas, until after the next platrting of corn ; and 



THE NARRAGANSETTS AND MOHEGANS. "J ^^ 

even then that they should give thirty days' notice to 
the English before commencing hostilities ; also, that if 
any of the Nayantick Pequots should make any assault 
upon Uncas or any of his, they would deliver them up 
to the English to be punished according to their de- 
merits ; and that they should not use any means to 
procure the Mohawks to come against Uncas during the 
truce." 

THE MASSACRE. 

Now an entire secret was kept of this, lest it should 
be known to the tribes, and lest the Commissioners of 
the Colonies on their way home should be captured by 
the Narragansetts, and held by them as hostages for 
the redemption of Miantonimo. Thus, all the prelim- 
inaries of killing Miantonimo were written down, but for 
the time being were to be kept secret.* 

And thus was the promulgation of Miantonimo's fate 
postponed. Yet, soon as Eaton and other commis- 
sioners had advanced towards home, far enough to be 
beyond the quivering arrows of the Narragansetts, then 
their decree in all its cruelty was promulgated. Uncas, 
thereupon, attended by Wawequa, his brother, two Eng- 
lishmen, and a platoon of Indian warriors, proceeded 
to the jail at Hartford, and taking from it that old war- 
worn sachem, held of right only as a prisoner of war, 
and thence with him manacled, they trailed back 
through the forest; and when they neared the plain 
where the battle had been fought, Wawequa, at a given 
signal, stepping behind Miantonimo, split him down to 
the earth with a tomahawk, and there they buried him. 

♦ See Caverley's Indian Wars of New England, page 117. 



74 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

And there, beneath a few round rude stones that old 
heroic sachem of the Narragansetts is still to this day 
in silence slumbering. For an hundred years after this 
massacre every Narragansett, in the truth and faith of 
his heart, turned thither, and with tears and lamenta- 
tions added at least one more stone to that tragic, rude 
pile.' 

That extraordinary court trial, under the superinten- 
dence of its fifty clergymen, was held at Boston on the 
17th of September, 1643. 

The commission before whom this sachem's fate 
was determined consisted of the following mL^nibers, 
who represented the four colonies, to wit : — 

George Fenwick, Edward Hopkins, Connecticut. 
Theophilus Eaton, Thomas Gregson, New Haven. 
John Winthrop, Thomas Dudley, Massachusetts. 
Edward Winslow, William Collier, Plymouth. 

In the extraordinary proceedings and decisions of 
the combined commissioners above-named it is perhaps 
to their credit that they dared not, and did not, advise 
the murder of Miantonimo until they had summoned 
into Boston, as co-directors and advisers, a train of fifty 
clergymen, who, upon their arrival, deliberately selected 
five of their number, who, after mature deliberation, 
condescended to become the scape-goats to bear away 
that vile sin and disgrace which was about to follow, — 
the deliberate murder of the veteran chief who, at this 
hour of trial, had thrown himself into the arms of Eng- 
lishmen for protection. The Mohawks, having a deadly 
hate to the Pequot, Sassacus, although he most imploring- 
ly threw himself upon them, murdered him. This was not 



THE NARRAGANSETTS AND MOHEGANS. 75 

strange. But when a company of white men, with reli- 
gion and civilization uppermost upon their tongues, can 
do the like of that, not through mistake or mere malice, 
but through an inordinate desire to obtain a political 
advantage, or through innocent blood to seek dominion, 
the humane heart turns pale and pitiful ; it sickens at 
the sight of it. From such examples, we may well per- 
ceive " how wise men may deceive themselves^ how good 
men may deceive others, and how the conscience may slum- 
ber in a mixed or middle state between self illusion, 
voluntary fraud, or cruel crime." 

The tragic death of Miantonimo might have been felt 
in every vein of our New England, shadowing forth as 
it did what deeds of blood white men as well as savages 
could be led to seek and to sanction. It foreshadowed 
an eternal abiding distrust in the heart of the red man, 
never to die out nor to be obliterated. It proclaimed 
a precedent which, in the advancing years, daily and 
nightly brought premature death to many of the then 
clergymen of New England, however pure their lives or 
circumspect their demeanor towards the tribes. 

Alas ! in sight of the heartless murder of Miantonimo, 
why should we wonder at the terrible record which his- 
tory discloses, to wit, that for an hundred years after- 
wards, as appears, more clergymen fell by the blade of 
the tomahawk according to their numbers than that of 
any other class of men. 

A frail justification for all this may be found in the 
fact that a war of extermination between the white man 
and the Indian had been, or was being, mutually con- 
templated. From the date of Miantonimo's death, in 
1643, for an hundred years and upwards. New England 



76 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

became but little else than a common battlefield of 
blood, in which religion, and even civilization, had be- 
come matters of mere form, more than of substance, 
evincing and promulgating to all the world the total 
depravity of mortals. 

The ashes of Miantonimo are still resting in Sachem's 
Plain, honored by the rude stones which his dear 
Narragansetts had tenderly piled up to him upon the 
cold, damp earth that had received him. 

Uncas still lived, and though sometimes treacherous 
to the English, as well as to other nations of his race, 
he generally kept his covenants ; yet for his infidelity 
he became noted. He lived to see his native tribes in 
New England fading away. Dying in old age, about 
the year 1683, his body rests in the Indian burying- 
ground, not far out of the city of Norwich, Conn.* Out 
of respect to his age, leadership, and race, a monument 
marks his grave, placed there, not very long since, by 
the generous ladies of that beautiful city. 

* See History of Indians of Connecticut, page 496. 



BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 



MIANTONIMO. 
ACT I. 



Scene I. — A Wooded Bank of the Thames^ and a Cabin. 
— Canonicus * rising and saluti7ig Roger Williams. 

Roger Williams. Truth, truth, my friend, Canonicus, 
sustained of reason and right, is to constitute the pillar 
of our commonwealth. It shall sustain us. Driven, 
though I have been, from mine own inheritance to this^ 
accused of heresy and hunted as if by hounds, I turn 
me hither into this part of the New England wilder- 
ness ; and, as a pioneer with thee, I take a new departure. 
Sure, Canonicus, faith in God is better than fiction. 
With good works. His presence shall forever be and 
abide with us. With thee our English, in the main, 
have dealt favorably and justly. Hostilities from them 
may be averted, and through the smiles of a kind Provi- 
dence, we may from this^ be permitted to plod on to a 
peaceful prosperity. Cheer up, then, Canonicus ! Good 
luck to thee in thy lonely old age ! Thy venerable 
locks, I trust, shall still continue to be fanned by the 
balmy breezes of heaven, as upward and onward through 
this dark forest we will henceforth wend our way to- 

* Canonicus, sachem of Narragansetts, died June 4, 1647, aged about 85. 

77 



yS BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

gether. May many a blessing from high Heaven attend 
thee and thine own noble nephew, the valiant Mian- 
tonimo. 

Canofiicus (rising from the grotuid). Ah ! me fear 
ye. White-man me no trust more ! Government no 
trust me ! English accuse Miantonimo of wrongs ! 
He my friend ! English wolves in sheep-skins ! Ye 
be guilty of many wrongs ! [Ilcre, taking np a dry 
stick and breaking it i7i ten pieces, he proceeds, laying down 
a piece at the end of each sentence?^ Ye break yer treaty 
\lays down ist stick']. Ye make long prayers [^2d stick]. 
Ye cheat Indian [^jd stick]. Ye murder Indian \^4th 
stick]. Ye steal his corn [jth stick]. Ye no friendly, 
selfish \^6th stick]. Ye shoot Indian's dogs [yth stick]. 
Ye back-bite [Sth stick]. Ye tell lies [gth stick]. Ye 
be big hypocrites ; and that be tenth stick [laying it 
doum\ and ye be ten times wicked. 

Roger. Well, Canonicus, you have made out yer ten 
offences. But you are to remember, for the sake of 
truth and faith, I have suffered as well as the red-man ; 
yet I can satisfy you that at least some of yer specifica- 
tions are erroneous. 

Canonicus. True it be, that Englishmen did give aid 
to me and Miantonimo, in the war against the Wam- 
panoags.* You loved me then, and we loved you as 
well. Thereupon we deeded to you all the lands of 
Rhode Island. And now " if the Eftglishman speak 
true, if he mean truth, then will I go to me grave in peace, 
and hope that the English and my kindred tribes shall 
live in love and peace together " forever. 

Roger. Fear not, Canonicus, I will intercede with 
* This war was in 1635. See Drake, B. H. p. 5. 



MIANTONIMO. 79 

the English governor. True to them as you have ever 
been found to be, thou shalt have no harm. 

Canonicus. Me liave not so much fear of white-man 
as me once had. Me feared the plague, which we 
thought he once sent to the Indians. Me feared his 
sorcery, lest he enchant and destroy the tribes. But 
me not much fear him now. Long ago white-man help 
me much, and we try to help him. 

Enter Stanton. 

Roge7: Ah ! Stanton, how is it as to the four colonies ? 
You being their authorized ambassador, are doubtless 
prepared to give us great light on our impending 
trouble with the tribes. 

Stanton, As agent for the colonies, I may say, we 
of late have received complaints against Ninnigrett, 
sachem of the Rhode Island Nehantics, over whom 
there still stands dread suspicion. He is accused of 
having formed an alliance with the Dutch, directly 
against^ and hostile to, our Massachusetts, Plymouth, 
Connecticut, and New Haven colonies. 

Roger, Uncas is treacherous to our friend Miantonimo. 
Uncas is in hate to him and to Pessicus, as well as to 
thee ; he is perfidious, treacherous, a seeker of booty 
and wider hunting grounds ; a tyrant, jealous, selfish, 
overbearing, without a trait of humanity or magnanimity. 
In behalf of the Narragansetts in whom we take an in- 
terest, it is hoped that a treaty with them, who are 
supposed to be in league with our enemies, may be 
negotiated. Ah ! here they come. 

Enter Lidian ambassadors^ half naked^ and 7nmisters^ 
Puritans strait-skirted^ fall in with them to for?jz a 
council. [Curtain. 



So BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 



Scene II. — Indians on the floor of the cot, seated, with 
the Gover?ior, Canonicus and Miantonimo, and others 
in costiune. 

Roger. To our treaty now perfected, please listen. 
l^Rcading the Articles of Confederation^ " Be it k?iow?i 
that in this league this day made on the part of the 
Narraga7isetts, as represented by their sachems, with 
their friend Canonicus on the one side, and the Eng- 
lish authorities on the other as represented by His 
Excellency their governor : — 

1. That neither party is to make peace with our ene- 
mies without the consent of the other. 

2. Narragansetts are not to harbor our enemies, 
known to be such, but are to restore all fugitive ser- 
vants, and are to return and submit all murderers to 
the English. 

3. Colonists are to give the Narragansetts notice when 
they march against an enem}^ and the Narragansetts 
are to furnish them with guides. 

4. None of the Narragansetts are to approach the 
English settlements during a war. 

5. There is to be free trade between the parties. 

6. This agreement is to go and continue from the 
present generation to posterity. 

Signed and sealed, by Canonicus and others. They 
pass the pipe around confirming the treaty and 
then break into a dance with music. Miafitonimo 
and his attendants soon taking leave are hon- 
ored from without by a discharge of 7nusketry. 

[Curtain. 



'^\^ ff^\ 







MIANTONIMO. 



8i 



Scene same. — Present Gardner^ Uncos and Mason. 

Gardner, Uncas, we are informed that you, bein^ 
friendly, have proposed to unite with us in the English 
service against our enemies. You say you will help 
Captain Mason. But we must see to this. Depart 
flow. Send twenty men to Bass River, for last night 
there went up there six Indians. Fetch them here 
dead or alive, and you shall go into the fight with 
Mason. Else you shall not go. 

Uncas. Me go \bringing his hand to his breast\ 
This heart not mine. It is your heart. I have no men. 
They be all yours. Command me in any hard thing. 
Me will do it. My tribes shall never believe Indian's 
words against the great English ! If an Indian kill an 
Englishman, me will put him to death. \Exit. 

Mason. Yes, Gardner, there you have it, as I 've 
told you. Uncas will be true to the English. 

Gardner. Ha! True, perhaps, — just as true as the 
jackal is true to the lion. Not because he loves the lion, 
but because he gains something by plodding for booty 
along in his foot-prints. 

Mason. But bear in mind, Gardner, we must not 
allow that Dutch vessel, now just arrived in the river, 
to advance into that hostile region on the Mystic. If 
that v.-ere permitted, like as not the kettles which they 
would carry up there to the tribes would be turned into 
arrow-heads, hence to be hurled at our hearts. What 
say you, Gardner ? 



82 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

£:nfer Shipmaster. 

Gardner. Say — ? Let me inquire of that master 

of the ship himself, now coming. Say ! Mr. , are 

you the master of that ship now here in the dock ? 

Shipmaster. I am. 

Gardner. And bound to that old Pequot fort ? 

Shipniaster. I am. 

Gard7ier. Please answer me. In dealing with tfie 
natives will you be true to the English, and furnish the 
Indians with nothing which may aid them in their war 

against us .'' 

Enter Stubbs. 

Shipmaster. Ah ! yes, in good faith we will be true. 

Stubbs. I take thee to be the shipmaster now bound 
to the Pequot landings, and have come to tell thee that 
we have two daughters up there in captivity, and to ask 
thee to intercede with the chief sachem for their eman- 
cipation, and on board your ship to return them to mc. 

Shipmaster. With pleasure, sir, we will try to do it. 
I understand they are lovely girls, carried there by the 
Indians. How long have they been held in captivity ? 

Stubbs. Several months. We are much troubled, and 
desire to obtain them speedily. Grief hangs heavily 
upon us. Please, speed, speed the ship ! 

Shipmaster. We have trade there. We will try to 
secure and save them to you. \Sailors appear in sights 
becko7iing them?\ On deck, boys ! Cut loose the 
cables ! Up with the sails, boys ! Up with the sails, 
and away! 

Sailors {answering). Oho ! heave oho ! heave oho J 
oho ! away ! 

[ Curtain — Music^ 



MIANTONIMO. S3 

Scene III. — A Law Office. 

Frank Felton (alone at a Table). If I only had property. 
Ah, if I had plenty of it, I would in that case leave the 
law. I 'd bid adieu to these old books, and for a season 
at least, I would discard the clamor of courts. These 
tend to drown and make life wearysome, and to fill it 
with discontent. At the first I would make it agreeable 
by indulging a little in foreign travel, and thereby 
would obtain a more general knowledge of the world's 
affairs ; and at the same time would n't I indeed take to 
my care and keeping my dear Angeline ! I 'd fail not 
to store her mind, as well as my own, with that general 
practical information which might lay a foundation for 
life's usefulness. Indeed, if I had the needful, I would 
gladly adorn her with jewels that should gladden the 
soul, evincing a love unselfish which hath long, unbid- 
den, moved this heart of mine. 

But, alas ! what nonsense is this ? Nonsense ! 
that I in my poverty should ever dream of wealth, or 
even like a dunce prattle about it. Vain, indeed, it is, 
even while in the meshes of nothingness, that I should 
have aspired to the hand of Angeline Raymond. With 
a heart so truthful and kind, she, as I have faith, loves 
me. But upon my second thought, how can I in the 
chains of poverty think of marrying, or being given in 
marriage ! Yet she will wait, and the time may come 
when we will be one. In the meantime I must advance 
professionally, laboriously, not for wealth, but an hon- 
estly acquired competency. Rumor has it that a fortune 
has been bequeathed to me. \Enter Agm?.'] Ah, 
ha ! Come in ! Come in ! Nothing to hinder you 1 



84 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Agnis {handing Frank a letter). The post-man has 
just now thrown that out to me. 

Frank. Thank you, Agnis ! Black seal ! How is 
this ? What now is to be divulged ? \Reading^^ Is it 
a dream ? Can this be so? Indeed it is no delusion, 
but who would have thought that in his wild notions he 
would have thought of me as a legatee ? I have not 
seen that old miser millionaire these many months. 
Long ago, I knew him, when a babbling boy I used to 
sit upon his knee, well pleased to help him count his 
dimes, and to hear him sputter. And, oh ! how the 
villagers used to be vexed at his wicked tenacities to 
win the almighty dollar, against laboring poverty, and 
wondered at his heartless oddities and grovelling 
methods of gormandizing gain. A fortune by gift 
never can carry with it genuine enjoyment. A curse 
follows the crime of amassing a miserly estate. In the 
end it proves an incumbrance to the heartless hand 
that accumulated it. The miser enjoys his wealth, as 
they say, just the same as an ass enjoys his burden. 
McFarland and his unholy labors are at an end. [Enter 
mother of Angeline?^ So goes the world and its wealth. 
Come in. How fare you ? 

The Mother. Great luck, Frank ! I am told a tor- 
tune falls to you. Not many in life are so well favored. 
But Angeline's father fears that your experience may 
not be quite sufficient for the care of so much wealth. 
Yet I think it cannot create in his mind any distrust. 

Frank. My lack of experience, I confess it. Yet 
that may be endurable, or it may be overcome. Tell 
the old gentleman I '11 soon be older, and, perhaps, 
improved. \Exit. 



MIANTONIMO. SS 

Enter Angeline, singing as she conies. 

Frank. Ah ! who is it ? \Listening?^ Oh ! it is my 
dear, dear Angelina ! That song is divinely sweet. 

Angel ine (at the end of the song^ hesitatingly kissing 
his hand). You are looking troubled, and why are you 
so serious, my dear Frank ? 

Fra7tk. True, indeed, I am feeling so, Angeline ; 
but allow me not to discomfort you by any of my own 
feeble misgivings. Still I am sad to say, my dear lady, 
that our marriage must be postponed. 

Angeline. Oh ! my dear Frank, how is this ? What 
has happened "i 

Frank. I have not property, you know, on which to 
support us in marriage ; but in due time, by industrious 
labor in my profession, I will obtain at least a compe- 
tence. Then I would be able to support a household 
prudently and properly. 

Angeline. But, Frank, I thought — I thought — 

Frank (interrupting). Thought, — yes — you be- 
lieved me to be a legatee of McFarland's estate. 
Well, I happened so to be. But, my dearest, I am 
wrought upon to relinquish my entire claim to that in- 
heritance. When it was willed to me, as there appeared, 
there was no living heir to it, but as it turns out, there 
is a claimant, a lady relative of McFarland's, to which 
that estate most justly belongs. Consequently I have 
been induced to transfer all my claim to her, without 
reserve. 

A?igeline. Yet, by the legacy, the property was legally 
made your's, Frank, was n't it ? 

Frank. Yes, but, evidently, 7nost unjustly. Mrs. 
Nelson, a very worthy but penniless woman, was near 



86 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

of kin, and was the heir apparent. Then, why should 
I, by force of a freak in the mind of a heartless miser 
(although I might legally do it), step in and oust a 
poor woman of a just inheritance ? Might is not always 
right. I had the power to consign that helpless lady 
to perpetual poverty. The instinct of my nature for- 
bade it. I am poor but an independent man. But 
allow me not to be made dependent on the unholy pelf 
of a miser. Away with it ! Give me the delicious 
fruits of my own labor. Allow me not in life to strut 
in borrowed feathers, or gratuitous fortunes. Let us 
commence the battle of life independently. Indepen- 
dence, manfully sustained, is wealth. Give me, hence- 
forth, the products of my own labor, and the gods from 
on high shall favor us. 

Angelifie. All right, my dear Frank ! Your decision 
is just. Though the tardy hours of life's duteous delays 
and cares may be long and wearysome, yet will we wait ; 
and I trust in the great God to bless the honest manli- 
ness of a generous heart. \Embracing him. Curtain, 



Scene IV. — Forest and a Cabin. 

Mossup {to Williams^. Ninnigrett be scamp. He 
hath joined with the Dutch, and means to fight the 
EngHsh. He be bad sagamore. He plots. He seeks 
war. 

Roger. Where dost thou obtain the news ye bring ? 

Mossup. Me know Ninnigrett did pass the winter 
among the Dutch. He joins them, we guess. He be 
sachem also of all the tribes on Long Island ; and 



MIANTONIMO. 8/ 

these Indians say he means to join the Dutch, and 
make war against the Enghsh. 

Roger, Thou knowest nothing of certainty of Nin- 
nigrett's intent ? True, Ninnigrett lived with the Dutch ; 
but living with them don't make war. 

Mossiip. But me hear Ninnigrett long ago gave his 
daughter to marry Sassacus, who gathered Pequots 
under him, " as if he be their sachem, or would possess 
the Pequot country." But here comes a boy messenger. 

Enter boy deliveritig a letter to Stanton. 
Stanton {breaking the seal, reads). 

" To OUR WORTHY SUBJECT, ThOMAS StANTON, YoU 

are authorized and directed to interview Ninnigrett, Pes- 
sacus, and Meeksam, and interrogate them upon their 
conduct, — on their attempts to break up our English 
settlements through an alliance with the Dutch. And 
this is your warrant, and you are to make due return 
thereof of their answers and your doings. 
(Signed) By the advice of Council. 

WiNTHROP, Governor^ 

Stanton. Here {beckoning to Mossup), come here ! 
Notify Ninnigrett, Pessacus, and Meeksam, to appear 
immediately before me. 

Mossup. Yea, my lord, and I '11 have them here 
presently. \Exit. 

Roger. For myself I have no suspicion against Nin- 
nigrett. The tribes are much more suspected than 
vicious. In all thy solicitude, to allow mere suspicion 
to control thy actions is not wise. But who are these ? 

Enter Ninnigrett and Pessacus. 
Stanton. Ninnigrglt, I am commanded to inquire of 



88 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

you ! Tell me whether you have, or not, agreed with 
the Dutch to make war against the English ? 

Ninnigrett. " I utterly deny that there has been any 
agreement made between the Dutch governor and my- 
self to fight against the English." 

StantoJi. But hath not the Dutch governor proposed 
such a conspiracy ? 

Ninnigrett. Nay. I did never hear the Dutchman 
say he would go and fight against the English. Neither 
did I hear the Indians say they would join them. But 
while I was at the wigwams, there came some Indians 
who told me there was a ship come in, from Holland, 
which reported the English and Dutch as being fighting 
together in their own country, and that there were 
several other ships coming down with ammunition to 
fight the English here, and that there would be a great 
blow given to the white-man when they arrive. But this 
I had from the Indians ; and how true it is, me cannot 
tell. I know not of any wrong which the English have 
done me. Theii, why should I fight against them ? 

Stanton. Have you not received arms and munitions of 
war from the Dutch ? What other Indians are engaged 
in this plot ? Contrary to engagements are they resolved 
to fight the English ? If they so resolve to fight, what 
do they think the English will do ? Would it not be 
better to be true ? Have the Dutch proposed to join 
you ? What are their grievances, their grounds of war ? 
Had not they better send messengers to treat with the 
English ? Have they hired the Mohawks to help them ? 

Ninnigf-ett. Why do the English sachems ask me the 
same questions over and over again ? Do they think 
us mad ? Do they think, for a few guns and swords. 



MIANTONIMO. 89 

we would sell our lives and the lives of our wives and 
children ? 

Pessacus. I am thankful to you, Stanton, that you 
have brought us this message, and have informed us of 
these things we knew not of before. As for the goV' 
ernor of the Dutch, we are loth to invent any falsehood 
of him, to please the English or any others that bring 
these reports. For what I speak with my mouth, / 
speak from my heart. The Dutch governor did never 
propound any such thing unto us. Do you think we are 
mad, and that we have forgotten our writing which 
doth bind us to the English, our friends, in a way of 
friendship ? We do confess, we abhor such thiftgs. 

\Exit NiNNiGRETT and Pessacus. 
Enter Roger Williams, Stanton, and Uncas. 

Roger. I tell thee true, Stanton, the tribes are more 
sinned against than sinning. But here comes Uncas, 
our valiant chief of the Mohegans.* What tidings, Un- 
cas — what tidings from without ? 

Uncas. We have bad news to tell ye, very bad. 
Miantonimo, chief of the Narragansetts, is meditating 
mischief to me. He hates my tribes, and this very 
night that brings me here, an arrow from the bow of 
one of his sagamores has been shot through this my 
right arm. It much pains me, and it much bleed. 
[/folding up the bandaged^ bloody arm. 

Roger. But how is this ? Miantonimo has done 
many acts of kindness to me and to the English. Un- 
cas, how does it now happen that Miantonimo has 
become hostile to thee ? Art not thou his friend ? 

* The Mohegan headquarters were in Connecticut; the Narragansetts 
in Massachusetts and Rhode Island. 



90 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Uncas. Me no friendly to him now. He is making 

ready to make war against the colonies, and against my 

Mohegans. Me despise him ! hate him ! me kill him ! 

\_Exit^ holdmg on to the woimded arm. Curtain. 



Scene V. — Governor's Headquarters. 

\Enter Miantonimo in costu?ne, and two attendants. 

Governor Winthrop (seated), Miantonimo, there is 
a complaint against you by Uncas, that you, as chief of 
the Narragansetts, are meditating hostilities against our 
English settlers. What say you ? 

Mianto?ii}no. What do I say. Governor ? Why, I 
say and declare, let my accuser be produced. Let 
him meet me face to face. Let there be an inquiry 
made. If I am in the wrong, let me fall by the toma- 
hawk ! but if Uncas, my accuser, be proved guilty of a 
false charge, let him be put to death. But, hear ye, I 
have a complaint to make against L^ncas, for his mur- 
derous ill-treatment to my tribes. Indeed, it is not his 
old friends, the English, that Miantonimo would offend. 
Nay, by reason of wrongs, it is Uncas against whom I, 
as chief of the Narragansetts, now from this moment, 
propose to make war. Hence, I am here to-day to 
solicit the non-intervention of Your Excellency and the 
English in my proposed advance with my Narragan- 
setts upon the Mohegans. 

Governor Winthrop. This is a matter in which the 
colonies wall take no action. Miantonimo, if Uncas 
and his tribes persist in doing you wTong, you will be at 
liberty to make war, provided you make no trouble with 
our English nation. 



MIANTONIMO. 9 1 

Miantonimo. Me thank Your Excellency. Me much 
thank you. And with mighty Narragansetts, me will 
invade Uncas at Connecticut. Bloody battle me will 
give to him and to his Mohegans. Uncas hath done 
much of wickedness. He hath made war upon Sequas- 
son ; hath caused my Indians to be disarmed by the 
English. He put in circulation many falsehoods. He 
hath accused me and my Narragansetts of a conspiracy, 
and tried to persuade the English in secret to put me 
to death. Me and my Narragansett tribes are kept 
from our hunting grounds, by reason of the lurkmg 
murderers of Uncas. Out upon such treachery {turn- 
ing to his attendants). We '11 give their carcasses to the 
beasts of the forest and to the fowls of the air ! 

[ War-whoop in the distance. 
[Exeunt. Dirge.'] 



ACT II. 

Scene I. — Averfs Kitchen. 

Deacon Avery. Angeline, come here, my dear. \_Aji' 
gelhic comes, greeting.'] When is Frank to be here 
again ? 

Angeline. Why, pa ? He is to be here this very 
evening. This was to have been the night of our 
wedding ; but now, as you know, it is postponed indefi- 
nitely, — indefinitely on account of poverty which 
prevents it. 

Avery. Oh, my dear Angeline, don't despond ! The 
darkest hour drops in just before the dawn of day. 
Thy troubled heart shall be relieved. Frank Felton is 
worthy of your hand. I find that he is honorable, 
honest, and truthful, and that he is endowed with habits 
of industry and with noble aspirations. Angeline, I 
have conveyed to you an estate. Go and tell him from 
me that you now have a home of your own, — a home 
sufficient for him and yourself. Tell him that your mar- 
riage need not be postponed for the means of a 
livelihood, nor for anything else. Tell him that the 
wedding may come off this very night, this being the 
time which you had to that end appointed. 

A?igeline. Why, papa [falling upon his necJz\ \ 

Avery. Caress me not too deeply. Direct Frank 
92 




SHIP AT THE SHuKE. 



MIANTONIMO. 93 

when he comes as to what shall be done. Let the 
nuptials be performed at the mansion as already in 
preparation. Away now, meet Frank, arrange for the 
ceremony, and I will attend you there. \Enter Stubbs.] 
Ah ! here comes my old friend. 

Stubbs. Thou appearest, deacon, in a trance, and 
well thou mayest be studious. Thy daughter, as I learn, 
is endowed with an heirship. We have called to coi> 
gratulate thee. 

Avery. True ; but what is the condition of our 
colonies? Is there to be a war, the Narragansetts 
against the Mohegans t 

Stubbs. Yes ; dread war is threatened of Uncas 
against Miantonimo, and war I detest. It is against 
my creed. 

[Enter Michael, in sailor's garb, hat in hand. 

Michael. News, ye reverence ? Bad luck to the 
tribes that hold yr gals in captivity. Our captain de- 
coyed the Indians (a dozen or more), on board his 
craft and held them as a hostage. 

Stubbs. What then ? What next ? 

Michael. Then the master of the sloop told the 
Indians on the shore they must bring the two captive 
gals to him, or he would bring away the Indians which 
he then held in the ship, to be slain of the English ; 
hence the Indians brought and gave up the two daugh- 
ters, and now, and by faith he has um. 

Stubbs. And has the vessel arrived with the daugh- 
ters ? 

Michael. Yes, they are at the shore \enter Master 
with the captives'], and here they come. 

Master. Are these the girls that were lost ? 



94 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Stubbs. Oh, yes. My dear children, redeemed ! 
Master. Then now do I return them to their kindred, 
who m.iy well rejoice. 

Stubbs. [Captives e7nbrace /tim.'] And I do rejoice. 

O liberty, liberty, God-given boon ! 

Sweet dream of the night time ; our glory at noon I 

Jn peace or in peril we welcome thee ever, 

Thy charms, how enchanting 1 we '11 love thee forever I 

Master. Oh, yes ; and I learned up there that Mian- 
tonimo is on the march with an army of Narragansetts, 
and that there is to be a bloody fight with the Connec- 
ticut Mohegans commanded by Uncas. 

[Horns and trumpets without.'] 

[Curtain.^ 

Scene II. — A Tent on Sachem'' s Plain. 

Stubbs. Hast thou seen any of the hostiles, any of 
the Narragansetts as they are on the march hither in 
quest of the great Mohegan race of warriors within 
thy borders ? 

Master. None ; but we sailed in sight of a large army 
supposed by us to be Narragansetts apparently on their 
march hither in quest of the great Mohegan hostile 
warriors within your borders. 

Agnis, O, Mr. Stubbs, is there not danger from 
them as they are advancing hither ? Enter Michael. 

Stubbs. Thee need not fear, Agnis, the tribes will 
have trouble enough among themselves without obtain- 
ing an increase of it from our English. 

[Exit Agnis and Master. 

Michael. True it is, Quaker Stubbs, out on the hill- 



MIANTONIMO. 95 

sides we 've seen a great many Indians. They are 
trailing between the hills, winding along in the valley 
near Norwich towards this plain. 

Sfubbs. Oh, yes, thou art right. It is probably the 
Narragansett army led by Miantonimo. Did you see 
anything of the opposing forces, to wit : the Mohegans 
under Uncas ? 

Michael. We did not see them, but heard the war- 
whoop in an opposite direction from the Narragansetts. 
Hark, hark ! I hear them now ! They are coming ! 

[Exit. Eiiter Pessacus. 

Fessacus. See off there (^pointing) ! See um — Mian- 
tonimo with great big many Indians ! Uncas and 
Mohegans be making great haste to meet um. Hark ! 
{a warivhoop cry where they are crossing the fords in 
opposite directions), there will be a bloody battle. Yea, 
there comes Mohegans, led by the valiant Uncas. 

Uncas. Go, Pessacus, go tell thy father, Miantonimo, 
leader of the Narragansetts against me, that I will give 
him battle. But before the battle, tell him me desire a 
parley, a talk with him between the two forces. Go 
now, invite Miantonimo from me I desire a parley ; 
bring him here upon liis honor and mine, that we may 
have a talk. Curtain. [Exit. 

Scene same. 

Pessacus. Hark! hark ye! They are coming! 
Behold, Uncas leads these (^pointing to the right), Mian- 
tonimo those (^pointing in the distance to the left). See 
them ! Oh, see them hither coming to the conflict ! 

[Enter Uncas and attendants. 



96 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Uncas. Pessaciis, is Miantonimo to meet me ? 

Pessacus. He is. He will arrive soon. 

Uiicas {aside). And now will I catch the old dog in 
me trap. \To his attendaiits?\^ See that your arrows are 
well pointed and poisoned. Backed up, me braves, by 
all your tribes, march up and stand fast ! Remember 
what I Ve told ye. \The warwhoop — Woach ! woach ! 
ha, ha, ha! ivoach ! — is heard ifi opposite directions, oft 
repeated. [Enter Miantonimo and his attendants. 

Miantonijno. Uncas, I am told ye desire a talk, as if 
ye had a proposal of peace. 

Uncas. Nah, but me have this proposal. Now, Mi- 
antonimo, what reason would there be in destroying 
the lives of all these braves — my men here {pointing 
hisjinger), and your men there ? Why should we have 
them all killed ? Come, let us, yoit and me, go out and 
fight it out between ourselves. If I kill you, I will 
have your men ; if you kill me, you shall have my men, 
all this me army of Mohegans. 

Miantonimo. The grievance of which I complain 
against you is a wrong to my people. The contest is 
theirs, not mine. For a just cause they now invade you. 
We are bound, by the rules of war, to fight you hon- 
orably, up-standing, and face to face. 'T is thus they 
have come to fight. 

Uncas. Fire ! \a7id instantly falling upon his face, 
five hundred MohegaJi arrows are winging their way to 
the hearts of the JVarragafisetts, and they, frantic, fly 
away, pjirsued by the Mohegans amid rapid ?'epo?'ts of 
musketry, whooping, noise and din of war following 
them?\ 

[Curtain. Music?\ 



MIANTONIMO. 97 



Scene III. — Same. — Present: Vt^cxs, and two war- 
riors holdifig MiANTONiMO prisoner^ sovicthnes tortur- 
ing him. 

Enter Pessacus. 
Pessacus (aside). Ah ! what fiendish treachery this, 
that Miantonimo should thus be seized, imprisoned by 
that cruel, cowardly fiend, Uncas, who holds him there 1 
To kill the old chief he dare not. No, he dares not ! 
For the English, in that case, would kill him. Imprison 
him he may. Murder him he may. But the Great 
Spirit giving me power, /, meself^ will avenge his death ! 

[Exit. 
Uneas {to MiaJitonimo remaining sullen and silent). 
You my prisoner, hey ? Speak, speak ! why you no 
speak ? 

Wawequa (o?te of the keepers'). Miantonimo no speak 
at all. He be prisoner {raising his tomahawk), me 
would kill him. 

Uncas {to Miantojiimo, punching him up). Why you 
no speak to me ? If you had taken me a prisoner, me 
should have besought you for me life. 

Wawequa. He no speak. Me kill him. Me will 
kill him. 

Enter the jailer of Hartford., with keys in hand. 
Jailer. Wawequa, stay thy hand upon this man. 
More than fifty years he has been in kindness an ally 
to the English. Murder him not at your peril. Now 
for the present, would it not be better to leave him 
here in my custody at the jail until his and your rights 
may be determined ? Be cautious, Uncas, be cautious ! 
" Too much haste may make waste." 



98 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Miantonimo. I much thank ye, Mr. Jailer. Much 
thank you. This bloody beast would bathe his hands 
in my blood if he dared. Blood is in his heart, and 
hell is in his hind legs. The wrongs he hath committed 
against me, my Narragansetts would have redressed, 
but for the cheats, the corruptions of his infamous heart. 
Yes, you say true; I have been long, long an ally of 
the English, yiz/V///*/// and true. I am willing to-day that 
the fate of me life itself may depend upon the delib- 
erate judgment of the English, who knew me of old, 
and not upon the damnable deceptive will of this mon- 
ster of hell. Give me quarters in your jail, and let us 
wait.* 

Jailer. Then let this come to pass. I will take Mi- 
antonimo to my keeping at the jail, and I will notify 
the colonial officers now in session, that they ma\' de- 
liberate, and that they may take the honor, the blame, 
or disgrace that shall follow the fate of Miantonimo. 

Uncas. You, jailer, no let him escape ? You will 
keep him safe ? 

Miantonimo. Yes, he will ; safe from the vile, poi- 
sonous fangs of a fiend. \Miant0ni7n0 is taken away by 
the jailer, two keepers following kirn.] Enter Stubbs. 

Stuhhs. War is wicked. Thou sinnest, Uncas, when 
thou dost provoke a war. But who are those who are 
on a chase, noisy in the distance ? Enter Mossup. 

Uncas. Me do not know. \Exit. 

Mossup [an outside cry and rattling as in chase, with 
now and then a discharge of a musket']. Me have seen 
um. 'Tis English and Niantics in pursuit of the great 
sachem [Indian passes upon the leap\ Ah ! that be Nan- 

♦ The trial o^ M'antonimo was Sept. 17, 1643. 



MIANTONIMO. 



99 



untenoo himself [stepping out and looking after him as 
he is pursued murderously by the English']. Oh ! there 
they go [lie comes through, first casting off his blanket, 
next time his laced coat as he runs], go around the hill, 
round and round. Oh ! they have wounded him ; they 
have taken him. 

Stubbs. Thee will tell me. Have they made a pris- 
oner of Nanuntenoo ? 

Mossup. Sure they have, and hither they are bring- 
ing him. 

[Enter Englishmen^ bringing with them Nanuntenoo 
i?i custody,^ 

Nanuntenoo. A curse on ye English ! Me women and 
children ye cut to pieces ; others ye burned to death 
in their wigwams ; the mangled bodies of others ye 
left them to be bleached by the wintry blast, upon 
the hills, in the forest, and upon the sands of the sea. 
Enter Dennison, Stanton, a7id Catapazet. 

Captain Dennison. This murderous chief with his 
Narragansetts was on his way to lay waste our settle- 
ments at Plymouth. I have him now within my grasp. 
You, Catapazet, and you, Stanton, are to be his 
keepers. You will hold him here, a prisoner, safely to be 
kept until I come. [Exit captain. 

Stanto7i. Nanuntenoo, where were you going ? [No 
answer?^ What were you intending to do at Plymouth t 
[A long pause but no answer?^ Why do ye not answer 
me, Nanuntenoo ? 

Nanuntenoo. You much child. No understand mat- 
ters of war. Let your brother or chief come. Him 
will I answer. Re-enter captain. 

* Nanuntenoo and Pessacus were sons of Miantonimo, and were sever- 
ally distinguished chiefs. Drake, B. 3, p. 46. 



lOO BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Dennison. Naniintenoo, our allied forces, upon reflec- 
tion, have determined that if you will surrender all and 
enter into a treaty, we will spare your life. 

Nanuntenoo. Spare me life ? Spare me life ? What 
is me life to the existence and freedom of me nation, 
me race ? What is my life to this soil which is now 
drinking my blood ? This vast domain which from the 
beginning of the world hath given life, freedom, and 
sustenance to my many nations — nay, to me fathers! 
No Nanuntenoo's life is here [placing his hatid to his 
heari\. Take it, and let this soul of Nanuntenoo stand 
approved at the throne of Manitou, the great Spirit. 
Take me life ; it is in your power. I desire to hear no 
more about it. 

Dennison. Stanton and Catapazet, you will take the 
prisoner away to Stonington, there to be executed. 
Treason must take its reward. Away, away ! 
[Curtain. Dirge^ 

Scene IV. — A Parlor in a Mansion. 

Deacon Avery, Now, for the wedding of Frank and 
Angeline. For the reception of the guests we are 
about ready. The deed conveying the estate to Ange- 
line is already delivered, the guests are invited to the 
nuptials [enter Angeline\. Angeline, you are here. Did 
you inform Frank of our entire arrangements ? 

Angeline. Yes, I informed him, and he with his at- 
tendants, on the way, will soon be here. 
Enter Frank [ringing the door bell\ Eliot, and others. 

Frank. Good-evening. Is this the old Bickford 
mansion ? Oh, here is Angeline. Well, we won't get 
lost now, for here is tlie deacon himself. 



MIANTONIMO. lOI 

Deacon Avery, Frank, let me introduce you to the 
Right Rev. John Eliot, an ambassador to the Indian 
tribes of New England, and who is now engaged in 
translating into the Indian dialect our English Bible. 
Here, too, I will make you acquainted with Passacon- 
away, the great sachem of the Penacooks. 

\They salute each other. 

Frank. Now, Angeline, what are to be the exer- 
cises ? 

Angeline. Oh, father will tell you. 

Deacon Avery. But let me tell you, Frank, you are 
again in luck. Long since I 've been aware that your 
Angeline was to be a legatee of the Lord Derby, (N. E.) 
estate, and was aware that the cloud that overshadowed 
you was soon to be dissipated ; yet to test your manli- 
ness, I have allowed the secret to remain as hitherto 
untold. Lord Derby in the old country has deceased, 
and among other property left this estate to me ; and 
from me I have conveyed it to your favored Angeline. 
She takes the entire estate. Her inheritance is thine. 
It is so decreed and declared. 'Tis but a just return 
for truth and honesty. You 've engaged the hand of 
Angeline. She, I trust, has the heart to be worthy of 
you. This mansion is thine, and this is your nuptial 
day, and here is my dear Angeline [Joining their hands] ; 
here, too, is the reverend clergyman, who will solemnize 
the nuptials ; and here, also, is Passaconaway * and his 
two gallant sons, who will stand forth and give heed as 
witnesses to the fact that Frank Felton, through the 
merit of an honest manliness, takes to himself my 

* Passaconaway, sachem of the Pennacooks, see Caverly's Indian Wars 
of N. E. P., 121-124. 



102 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

own Angeline, together with a clear title to the old 
Derby estate. [A// rising. 

Eliot. * My friend Frank, thou takest this lady whom 
thou holdest by the hand to be thy lawful wife, and 
Miss Angeline, thou takest this gentleman to be thy 
lawful husband, to dwell together according to the di- 
vine ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony. In these 
covenants you and each of you severally unite. Whom 
the Father hath joined together, " let no man put asun- 
der." Now that you are husband and wife, may the 
spirit of holiness be and abide with you forever. 

[Frank a?td Angeline lowing, retire. 

Eliot \turning to the attendaJits], Passaconaway, thou 
art a man of force and influence, a great sachem. I 
exhort thee to hear and heed me. Be thou and thy 
people followers of the Great Spirit, true believers 
in that Great Being, the author of this Holy Bible, 
which I am about translating into your native tongue. 

In this we read of the great God, that " From the 
rising of the sun, even to the going down of the same, 
my name shall be great among the Indians : and in 
every place incense shall be offered unto my name as a 
peace offering, for my name shall be great among the 
Indians. So saith the Lord." Mai. i : ii. 

Passaconaway, thou hast force among thy people for 
good. Take heed. Train them to truth and faith and 
righteousness. The Great Spirit is strong ; he made the 
sun to shine, the moon and the star to transfuse its 
light, and this earth he turns round and round to give 
thee day and night. 

Passaconaway. Me never have heard of the Great 

♦ Eliot, the apostle, ihid. p, 397. 



MIANTONIMO. IO3 

Spirit before as now. I will consider the subject. Will 
persuade (^pointing) me sons to do the same thing — • 
adieu ! 

Eliot. Farewell ! and may the peace of the Great 
Spirit be and abide with Passaconaway. \Exit. 

The Soil. Eliot be necromancer. But how can he 
know Great Spirit make a world ? How was that done ? 
Out of what was the big earth made ? 

Passaconaway. Great Spirit have great power — 
as me have sometimes. Me have power. Make a dry 
leaf turn green. Me make the water brooks turn to ice. 
Make it burn, too. Me have power to hold the rattle- 
snake, and snake have no strength — he does not bite 
me. So it is, Great Spirit may do great things. His 
great power — He create this big world. 

Son. But if he create, how could he create it out of 
nothing ? Father, you be much necromancer, but you 
no make a thing out of nothing — Injun no do it. 
Reason show, out of nothing, nothing will come. How 
can big thing be made out of nothing ? Did white man 
ever see it done ? 

Junior Son. Eliot say this world be made to turn 
round, rolling over to make day and night. Be that so ? 
If it be, why it no upset the water ponds ? spill out the 
great rivers, and throw the water all splashing about ? 
Pshaw ! 't would upset everything. Me no believe. 

Passaconaway. Come, boys ; you be brave, but you 
know not much yet. Conic along now, we '11 go. 

[Music.l [Exeunt. 



104 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Scene V. — Governor's Headquarters, 

[Present Commissio7iers of the four Colonies?^ 

Commissioners (chairman). Governor, the Commis- 
sion have deliberated upon the matter of Miantonimo. 
That he should live^ or that he should be executed, are 
questions equally troublesome. In doubts, as all at first 
were involved, we sought the determination of fifty 
clergymen, who, after mature deliberation, have 
denounced Miantonimo as being worthy of death. 

Governor. But what is to be your determination ? 

Commissioner. Our judgment, as now advised, will 
be that Miantonimo is to be slain of Uncas ; but not in 
a cruel manner, as is the fashion of savages. 

Governor. Has your degree been promulgated ? 

Commissio?ier. Not at all ; our decision is not as yet 
made known beyond you and ourselves. 

Governor. You may do well not to make known your 
decree, at least for the present. For on your journey 
homeward, your pathways may be beset by savages. 
The Narragansetts may take you, and in that case you 
might be held as hostages for the delivery up to them 
of Miantonimo, their sachem, now doomed to fall at 
your hands. 

Commissioner. Indeed, a secret this, our determina- 
tion must be kept until some time after our departure 
hence. Adieu then ! and at once you will inform Uncas 
of our decree, and how, not in a cruel manner, Mian- 
tonimo is to be slain. 

{Enter Quaker.] 

Governor. Haste then, you and your fellows ! Avoid 
the highways as much as possible. Take strong guards 
and away to your homes ! {Excufii. 



MIANTONIMO. I05 

Scene VI. — Same. 

Quaker (to Gov.). Wilt thou tell me where is my 
friend Stubbs ? Some where near us, he keeps an 
insurance office. I have a vessel at sea, over-due. It 
should have been in port three days ago, and I desire 
my friend Stubbs, who is my brother Quaker, to insure it. 

Governor. Here is Michael. Michael, conduct this 
Quaker to the insurance office of his brother, Stubbs. 
\_E71ter Stubbs.] Ah ! here he is now. 

Quaker. Thou keepest an insurance office. Insure 
vessels over-due, heh ? 

Stubbs [stepping to a side room]. Yes ; walk in here 
and be seated. What are the facts ? 

Quaker. The vessel is large, having on bo.-^rd a 
cargo of merchandise, and has been due three days 
only. Think thou may well insure it. She wa". sea- 
worthy, was in good condition — a model ship. What 
will thy terms be in such case, provided thou wilt ensure 
it at all .? 

Stubbs. If I insure it my terms will be 30 pei cent 
on the appraised value of the vessel and carg» , as 
appraised at the foreign port. 

Quaker. That seems a high rate, yet perhaps I crn'^ 
do better. 

Stubbs. I will make out a policy, but will not si[;n it 
until I am better advised. I propose to postpon( th'^ 
signing. I will see thee again on the morrow. 

Quaker. It maybe well to consider it, but I trus^ 
thou wilt not deem the risk to be very large. Then as 
thou desirest, I am to see thee further on the mor ■^w.^ 

Stubbs. Yes ! on the morrow ; on the morrow 1 



I06 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Quaker. Adieu ! then, and I '11 come again. 

\Enter Uncas, plumed^ with Jjidian 
warriors attendi?ig him.'] 
• Governor. Uncas, it is left with me to make known 
to you the decision of the Commissioners of the four 
Colonies, which involves the life of Miantonimo. 
Uncas. What be the decree, Governor ? 
Governor. It is decreed that you may slay Mianto- 
nimo, but you are not to take his life in a cruel manner. 
Hence, if you think advisable, you will be at liberty to 
proceed immediately to the jail that holds him, and 
thence for convenience, you may take him to Sachem's 
Plain for execution, and the English hereafter will give 
aid in your protection as against the Narragansetts. 
Uncas, That will do. Thank ye Governor, thank ye ! 
The Sawnaps all repeating " Thank ye., 
Governor. ^^ Exit Uncas, with drawn 
kfiives and tomahawks, making the wood 
cry exultantly, as they depart. [Exeunt. 

Scene VII. — Quaker's Kitchen. 

\Present Quaker — enter News Servajit, who brings a 
letter.] 

Quaker (looking into it). How is this ? {^Startled at 
it, he reads.] " On the 21st instant, the vessel, in a ter- 
rible gale went down ; the captain and crew saved 
themselves, but the ship, as well as the entire cargo, is 
lost. Adieu ! " {Throwing down the letter.) Lost, lost ! 
Oh ! if that policy had been signed by Stubbs last 
night, then my insurance would have been secure. 
Now, what, what shall I do ? To-morrow morning, he 
will hear of the ship's loss, and in that case he will not 



MiANTONIMO. IO7 

sign the policy at all — in that case I, in misfortune, am 
lost ! lost ! What shall I do ? Can I induce him to 
insure me ? Ah! — 1 see — I '11 write him a letter. 
[Musir.'\ \_Sits and writes it, a?id then hastily reads aloud 
to himself. " My dear friend Stubbs : if thee hath not 
signed the policy, thee need n't ; the vessel is heard from ! "] 
Yes : this will do. Here, Michael, take this letter to 
Stubbs, the insurer, and say nothing. If he hands you 
my policy of insurance, bring it to me at once. I '11 
have him. [Reads it over againj] Now away. 

Michael (aside. Damned cheat!) Forgive me, yer 
holiness. If I give yer help in getting ye insurance, will 
ye turn and help me to get back me lost inheritance, 
against me own brother, Peter ? 

Quaker. Never mind, Michael, I '11 help ye. Do as 

thou-hast been directed. Away and deliver my letter ! 

l^Exit Michael. Enter MichaePs Wife. 

The Wife. Mr. Quaker, me dear ould father-in-law, 
Martin O'Flannigan, in me house, is jist dead — and he 
was about dying without a will, when me husband, 
Michael, came out to ye (looking round). Where is 
Michael ? 

Quaker. Thou wilt say nothing; keep whiste. I have 
sent Michael away. When he returns, we will come to 
you. 

The Wife. Yes, yr howliness ; but let me tell ye, his 
brother Peter will try to get the inheritance. Say, 
Quaker lawyer, can't somebody make a will for ould 
father Martin, now that he is dead ? 

Quaker. Thee will keep whiste. Go home and take 
my advice : wait and say nothing ! [Eocit Wife. Re-enter 
Michael^ Well, Michael, what luck ? 



I08 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Michael. I beleave in my soul that it 's muckle good 
luck to ye. I called at the door of Stubbs, he took yr 
letter, was in his back office with it a long while, 
awhile ; and then he brought me out this scrap of a 
paper, all signed, as ye see. De ye see ? Sure I beleave 
it is a policy. And sure, it was the plain words ye put 
in it, that brought ye the policy. 

Quaker (^glancing at the paper). Whiste man ! thou 
hast done well. Say nothing ! — be true ! Now, indeed, 
will I get pay for my lost ship ! All right, Michael, say 
nothing. 

Michael. All right : I 'm tight. But say, what shall 
I do to get me inheritance. Me ould father is now 
dead in me own house, and he 's left no will, to save to 
me the inheritance, and Peter, me brother, when he 
hears of the death, will come and take away the half of 
the property. 

Quaker. Does any one know of yr father's death, 
except thee and thy wife 1 

Michael. No one at all, at all ; and the body is 
locked in the dark room of me house. 

Quaker (calling him aside). Michael, why can't you 
get Daddy O'Brien to make the will ? 

Michael. Yes, faith, and it 's well thought of. He '11 
come to the same bed — whiste! whiste! — and he'll 
make the will, and you, Quaker, will write it. We '11 all 
call it me ould father's will, and then we '11 have a will 
to suit meself. Yes, {calling his wife ifi). Here, wife, 
go call Daddy O'Brien to come to me house at once. 
Tell him nothing ; nothing about me property. 

Quaker. Dost thou know Daddy O'Brien to be a 
man ye can trust with a secret. 



MIANTONIMO. lOQ 

Michael. And faith, Daddy O'Brien is the man ye 
can trust. A divel of a bit will he tell of it, at all, at 
all, and in the will he will give me my inheritance. 

[Enter The Wife with Daddy O'Brien. 

The Wife. Michael, here is Daddy O'Brien. 

Michael. Whiste ye, now, whiste ! Lave us alone. 
Lave Daddy O'Brien and me alone. [^Quaker and wife 
retire^ Now sure, it is this. Daddy O'Brien {Privately), 
My ould father is dead in my house, and nobody but 
us knows it ; and the ould man has not given me 
the home farm, nor the goose pasture, as he had 
agreed, and now I want to remove him from his bed, 
and I want you to lay sick in the bed and make a will 
in me father's, Martin O'Flannigan's name, giving me 
the home place and the goose pasture, and all the rest. 

Daddy O'Brien. An yes, and faith, I '11 do it ; and I 
can be as sick as he, and I can give to you the goose 
pasture as well as he, and I can make the will. 

Michael. Whiste, whiste, now ! Be careful that ye 
sign to it the name of Martin O'Flannigan. See to it 
that ye seal it, and that ye give it witnesses enough. 

Quaker. Thou mayest have the wife and Agnis for 
witnesses. 

Michael. And Quaker, you can write it, and witness 
it, too. Whiste, now, and away, so that Martin O'Flan- 
nigan's will may appear to be written in a dacent way, 
and then I '11 have a title. [Music. 

Scene — Parlor. 

[Present Quaker and Father McFeason. Enter 
Stubbs.] 

Quaker. Friend Stubbs, I am glad to see thee. 
How hast thou been ? 



no BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Stubbs. I 've been not a bit the better for thine 
honesty. 

Quaker. What doest thou mean ? 

{Enter McFeason. 

Stubbs. I charge thee with dishonesty. Thou art a 
hypocrite ! Thou didst know the loss of the ship, and 
upon it obtained my contract of insurance — and all 
this to defraud me. [Producing the letter and reading?^ 
" If thou hast not signed the policy, thee need n't. 
The vessel is heard from." {Throwing it at him.^ Take 
back yer vile letter — it shall prove thine infamy. 

Quaker. Don't come to me, Stubbs, with a lesson of 
morals. That policy was signed and issued by thee 
supposing the ship safe. You signed it to defraud me. 
Take this lesson, friend Stubbs, to thyself — pay for the 
lost ship — confess thy sins and shame the devil. Stand 
forth, Stubbs, and tell us why thou didst issue the policy 
at all, after hearing that the vessel was " heard from ? " 
Why didst thou sign it, but for the purpose of defraud- 
ing me without risk of the premium ? Tell me, if thou, 
thyself, art not the hypocrite. Come now, brother 
Quaker, let us submit these, our differences, to our 
neighbor and friend, Father McFeason, now present. 

Stubbs. Agreed; so be it. Let us listen to his 
judgment. 

Father McFeason. I in faith will speak — as now on 
your solicitation I am invoked, I will answer. The case 
on the one side and the other, as ye represent it, evin- 
ces, first, that ye are both Quakers ; second, that in 
this transaction of business ye were mutually dishonest 
and guilty of treachery — intending to defraud each 
other : third, that it seems plain to me that ye are both 



MIANTONIMO. Ill 

hypocrites. Consequently it follows, that neither of 
you, has in law or justice, any- remedy, both appearing 
to deserve a place in the penitentiary. 

\Exit Quaker. Enter Agnis. 

Moral, — Never deal in disguise. If you speak at all, tell the truth, 
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 

McFeason. How strange it is, Agnis, that our neigh- 
bor, Martin O'Flannigan's sons, are always found at 
variance. The father is well to do in the world, and 
what need can there be in their keeping up a contention 
as to which of the two shall inherit their father's estate, 
or whether they are to share it equally ? 

Agnis, Indeed, Father McFeason, had n't ye heard 
of it ? Martin O^ Flanniga?i is now very sick,(?) and 
Quaker is just now gone in there to see to the settling 
his business, and they have notified me to be present 
and sign my name, as witness, to his will. These are 
sad hours for us in this neighborhood. Yes, it is true, 
the young men are apt to be at variance. Peter is 
wild in his notions, inclined to idleness, and like a 
drone of the hive, he will most likely come to some 
tragic end, or waste a useless life in poverty. Michael 
is the more inclined to industry, but is not much better 
in his behavior. But, the father I trust will advise 
aright and encourage them by his will. 

McFeason. How either of them can be benefited by 
a legacy, I am unable to perceive. A fortune to a 
knave is worse than nothing, but whoever lives, may 
see and, mayhap, may thereby be profited. 



ACT III. 
Scene I. — A Sick-room. 

\Present, Daddy O'Brien {as Sick Ma/t), disguised^ in 
the bed of Mnrtin O^Flannigan, deceased, with Agnis and 
MichaeVs wife as witnesses to the proposed forgery?^ 

Quaker {at the bed-side). Friend Flannigan, wilt thou 
wake up a little. I hear thou art very sick, and re- 
quested, I 've come to write thy will. 

Sick Man. Yes, very sick — want a will made. It 
sanies to me ye don't have much light here. Where is 
me ould friend, the Quaker lawyer ? 

Michael. Oh ! the Quaker is here ! He has jist 
spoken to ye, and he can write y'r will, father. \Taking 
the Quaker by the hand and leading him up to him^ 

Sick Man (frying to rise up). Where 's Quaker law 
yer ? I want to make me will ! 

Michael. Oh! here he is, father. \Leading Quaker 
and seating him at bed-side^ 

Sick Man. Where shall I begin ? Take a sate, law- 
yer, and write ye down what I bid ye — and do it 
quickly, for, as ye see, I 've but little time to stay ! Are 
ye listening ? But I die in pace with all me neighbors. 

Witnesses (in chorus). Musha ! Mush a ! 

112 



MIANTONIMO. II3 

Sick Man. I 've been a hard laboring man all me 
life, a'most; and me boys — one is a blackguard, and 
my tother, me Michael, has been the boy for me. I 
now die in pace, and must lave um. 

Witnesses {in chorus^. Musha ! Musha ! 

Sick Man. I bequeath to me son Michael — for 
never, never was there a better son, or a decenter boy, 
— have ye that down? Yes, to me son Michael, I 
bequeath the whole of me farm in Kilkenny, in the 
parish of Hardacre, with all the low lands along Goose 
Brook, down back of ould McCafferty's barn. I give 
all this to me son Michael, and much good luck to him, 
and much success forever may he have with it. Have 
ye got that down ? Ah ! and me mouth is getting dry, 
and won't ye gave me a little taste of the jug ? {Here he 
takes a hearty drink^ Where had I got ? — Oh, I remem- 
ber — at McCafferty's barn. I leave him, (that 's Mich- 
ael, I mean). I leave him the two turnip yards at 
O'Finnegan's Haven, and sure it is, the soil is fine. 
And where is Rory O'More ? — that's Michael — I am 
after leaving to him another acre of ground, which lays 
in the parish of Knockraboora, on the side next to 
Noonan's land, and near Larity Carson's acre. Have 
ye that down. (Yes.) Jist now, agin, let me have a 
little of the jug. [Michael gives it. He drinks?^ Ah ! 
Mike ye watered that ? 

Michael {nods aside, as if to privately admit it) No, 
indeed, father, it 's yer taste, that 's leavin ye. [Here 
the attenda7its all mutter assent?^ 

Sick Man (^groaning). Well — sad ! sad ! Indeed it 
is so ! But try me a little — stay me a little — give me 
a drap more of the jug, if ye please. 



114 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Michael. Here father, [holding the jug to his father's 
mouthy which gives him but one swalloTju] that 's all — it 's 
empty ; the jug leaks ; the gin is out, [aside^ and out on 
purpose, like as not. 

Sick Man. Yes, yes, that gives me grief — 'tis pain- 
ful to my stomach. The jug is out, and it 's to be feared 
the water of the well of life is out, too. Have ye anither 
jug, Michael ? 

Michael. Oh, father, finish your will, and I '11 go 
over to McCafferty's and get another jug full. But 
mind me, see to it that ye finish the will right off. Sign 
and seal it. Do ye hear me ? [Exit. 

Sick Man. Yes, I 'm after hearing ye ; but be after 
the gin. Peter O'Flannigan, where is he ? Ah, Peter is 
my son, but he 's been an idler in spite of meself. To 
my sorrow, he has made himself but a blackguard, and 
not a farthing will I give him — nothing, at all, at all. 
Have ye that down ? (Yes.) Then give to m.e dry lips 
anither drap — jist a taste of the jug. 

Quaker. Wilt thou have patience a little, thy son 
Michael has not yet returned. 

Sick Man. Where is Peter O'Flannigan ? Oh ! 
Peter, bad luck to ye, for I have nothing for ye. 

Quaker. Peter is not here. 

Sick Man. Ah ! it is Daddy O'Brien that I was try- 
ing to think of. Have ye that down ? (Yes.) Well, I 
leave to Daddy O'Brien all the rest of me estate. It 
includes me homestead in Killemundoony and the two 
acres at the cross, and good luck be it to me good ould 
friend. Have ye got it down ? 

Quaker. Yes, it is down. 

Sick Man. Then me last will is done. Where 's 



MIANTONIMO. Il5 

Rory O'More, for that *s my Michael ? and where 's 
me jug? 

Michael Here father, I am here. I Ve returned ; 
here 's the jug. 

Sick Man. Indeed, is there anything in it but water ? 

Michael. Yes, father, if ye have finished the will, a 
drap of it will be good for yr ould heart. {Giving him 
afresh drink ^ 

Sick Man (smacking his lips). Sure, and yer as good 
as yer word ; ye 've given me a drink, and the will, it is 
finished, and the witnesses are about signing it. 

Quaker (Jiolding up the paper). This, Martin O'Flan- 
nigan, is your will. 

Sick Man. Sure, it is ; and by the holiness of St. 
Patrick it is indade my will. [Curtain. 

Scene II. — Same, 

[All present.'] 

Michael. Now, that the will of my ould father is 
made, whiste ye ! Whiste away to yr work, and tell um 
all that me father, Martin O'Flannigan, is dying, is 
dead ! tell um how the priest had given him the rites ; 
tell um of the wake this night. And, oh ! tell um how 
sad it was for his son, Michael to part with him in his 
ould 2igQ[weeping'\. But [turning to the Quaker] whiste ! 
whiste ! be at the wake and bring the will. 

Quaker. Yes ; I will be there as thou desirest, with 
the will. 

Sick Man {groaning). Worse ! [Quaker offers the 
jug^ Nothing from the jug — no more of the jug — no 
more of the jug I Oh ! Father St. Patrick, from purga- 
tory save me soul. [Enter Agnis. 



Il6 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Agnis. Oh ! my friend Quaker, our dear ould father 
is gone at last. He has made his last will — always 
kind to me — so loving — he now has left us — ah! 
great grief to me, to part with a dear ould friend ! 
[ Weepmg.'] Our father O'Flannigan, he in his lifetime 
always so good to the poor — so faithful to his friends, 
and always so generous — so kind to me, now dead! — 
but he died in peace. He had made his will, but the 
jug he forgot. [ Weeping and taking it up and swashing 
it, tastes it.] Shah ! 'tis as weak as water, water ! 
[Music lively, and she wakes up to it and turns into a 
dance.] [Curtain. 

Scene HI. — At a Front Door of McFeason. 

Enter Stubbs. 

McFeason. Friend Stubbs, to what place are you 
going. 

Stubbs. I am on my way to Flannigan's ; there is to 
be a wake there. Martin O'Flannigan's will is to be 
opened there — its contents are then and there to be 
made known. A Quaker lawyer did the business of 
writing it. Wonder if he contrived to cheat the young 
Peter out of his inheritance, as he did me out of my 
insurance ? Sam Strout says the will is a forgery. He 
says old Martin O'Flannigan intended that his two boys, 
Michael and Peter, should share his estate equally, and 
hence had made no will. But whether there has been 
a will made up for Martin, since his death, we shall 
soon sec 

McFeason. Yes : I am told Martin died two days 
ago. Then how could it happen that a will for him was 
made but yesterday ? Had Martin O'Flannigan come 



MIANTONIMO. 1 1/ 

again to life? or has Daddy O'Brien contrived to 
make up a will for him, since his decease ? It is meet 
that this matter should be ferreted out. 

\lSfow the Irish, meii and women, are coming around 
and dropping into the end door, where the wake is to be 
held:] 

Stuhbs. See, thou mayest know most clearly; it 
takes a live man to execute a will, not a dead one. 
Neither dead men, nor ghosts, deign to do it — indeed, 
it is not fashionable, even in this, our Mohegan world, 
for a dead man to make a will. [Curtain, 

Scene IV. 

[Rising, it unveils a wake for the soul of Martin 
O'Flannigan, with smokers, drinkers ; Quaker, Peter, 
and Michael.] 

Michael (in tears). Now that our dear ould father is 
dead, we his friends, may listen to the reading of his 
will. The lawyer has it. 

Quaker {rising^ The will was left to my keeping. 
It was witnessed by me and by Nora, Flora, and Agnis. 

Michael. Please read it. 

Quaker (reads). I, Martin O'Flannigan, of Nockra- 
boora, being weak in body, but strong in mind, do 
make and publish this my last will and testament, this 
day of . First of all, I give to me son Mich- 
ael (for never was there a better son, or a decenter 
boy). I leave to Michael, my farm in Killamundoony ; 
I also give to him ('t is Michael, I mean), the two tur- 
nip yards at Finnegan's lane, down opposite to McCaf- 
ferty's sheep pasture, south of Goose Brook (and sure it 
is, the soil is fine). And further (it 's Michael I mean), 



118 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

I am after leaving to him anither acre, which lays in the 
parish of Knockraboora, down by the great 'tater field, 
quite near to Larity Carson's lot. {Note. 'T was here 
the testator took a drink, and again thus proceeds.) 
Ah, Peter ! where is he ? Ah ! Peter is away to his 
idlings. 'T is long he has been a blackguard, in spite 
of meself, and I '11 give him nothing at all, at all. 

Peter {rashly interrupting). Who made that will ? 
When was it made ? Sure, the scribe could be nothing 
but a lying blackguard ! 

Michael. Whiste, Peter ! Whiste ! 

Quaker. Never mind, Peter, don't interrupt the 
reading. Make thine objections at the close of the 
reading. 

\Here a low murmur of assent issues and the reading 
proceeds?^ 

Quaker {continues the reading). And this is me will ; 
there 's my neighbor Noonan, — nah ! it 's Daddy 
O'Brien I mean, always of interest. Well, I leave to 
Daddy O'Brien all the rist of me estate. It includes 
me homestead in Knockraboora, near Killemundoony, 
and the two acres at the cross, and the best of good 
luck may it bring forever, to me dear ould friend. 

r Quaker, (Signed) 

Witness : \ Nora A. Flora, Martin O'Flannigan. 
( Agnis. Sealed [l. s.] 

Quaker. This is all. 

Peter. All, ye see, so it seems. Then, and sure, I 
am to have nothing at all, at all. Agnis, you were here. 
When did me father die ? 

Agnis. Two days ago. 

Peter. And Agnis, when was his will made ? 



MIANTONIMO. 1 19 

Agnis. This forenoon. 

Michael {interrupting). Whiste ! Whiste ! Shah ! 
Agnis. 

Peter, And how the divil could a dead man make a 
will. My father died day before yesterday. Did he 
dictate that will of to-day ? Get out ! bad luck to ye 
all ! Quaker begun this, and you Mike urged it along 
to chate me. And Daddy O'Brien, trying to chate us 
both, was the tool he made of himself. Down upon 
the blackguards. Drive 'em out ! \Music. 

[Here they all rise against Quaker, Mike, and O'Brien, 
- — and hither and thither, catching up brickbats, clubs, etc., 
they raise the cry, ^^ Kill, drive out the blackguards f' — 
a?td,pursuijig, they drive them furiously out of sight ?\ 

\Soo?i they are back again, seated, smoking, and mutter- 
ing the wake as before, and bemoaning the loss of Martin 
O'Flanigan.'] [Curtain. 

Scene V. — Same, 

Michael (confessing). And sure a great sin had I 
committed meself. But I have been to the priest, and 
indade he has pardoned it. Ah ! a ghost (raising his 
hand in fear). [An apparition fills a window, and all 
start up, gaze at it, and then seat themselves.'] The priest 
hath pardoned me ; I am pardoned. 

Ghost (in a sepulchral voice). Untrue ! That 's un- 
true, //'j d5 /iJ>, Michael. 

Smoking attendants (speaking together). Musha ! 
Musha ! A ghost ? Oh nah, nah ! 

Michael (in tears). I am sorry for my sins. I will 
be content with the one half of the endowment of my 
dear ould Father O'Flanagan. 



120 BATTLE OF THE oUSH. 

Apparition {drawlingly). That 's a lie, Michael. It's 
a lie I 

The attendajits mutter inusha ! and {unth groans) ex- 
claim, ^^Augh Michael I Musha! Musha /" 

\Enter McFeason. 

Michael, Here is my dear priest, McFeason, always 
friendly to all. Father McFeaso'i, what shall we do ? 
My dear ould father is dead. Here, as ye see ; and he 
had made a will. 

Peter (inter ruptiiig). Faith ! and he had made no will. 
Michael, my brother, had signed to cheat me out of me 
inheritance. Daddy O'Brien, disguising himself, had 
made it ; and Quaker lawyer had written it down, and 
it *s all a chate, a chater ! 

Michael. And, as I was saying, me ould father had 
kept me at home, and had discarded Peter, my brother, 
and Peter was a blackguard, given to Strang drink. 
And me ould father ought to have given me his whole 
estate ; but, dying suddenly, made for me no will at all, 
at all. And what shall I do ? 

Peter. I '11 tell ye what, Mike. You may as well be 
content with yr own honest rights. Now, Master Mc- 
Feason, tell us what we ought to do, now that our old 
father is gone, and Michael behaving like an outcast, a 
knave, and a cut-throat. Let us have yr advice. 

McFeason. Peter, thy father was equally a friend to 
you as to Michael. He had an estate, but desiring that 
you, his sons, should share it equally, of course he 
made no will. You seek my advice. Peter, leave your 
intemperance. Turn with disdain from its dangers. 
Seek laborious industry. It is the true source of plea- 
sure. Believe me, the genuine enjoyments of earth are 



MIANTONIMO. 121 

never obtained otherwise than through constant indus 
trious labor. 

Drones, they never rise to glory, 

Doomed to perish in the strife, 
God ordains it — true the story — 

Workers reap the joys of life. 

Michael, at the death of your old father O'Flanagan 
ou have proved yourself dishonest. Indeed, what a 
reproach is this. Your conduct endangers your person. 
Vour pathway is crooked. What is it but the way to 
hell. Depart from it, Michael. Boys, take your inher- 
itance equally. Copy the frugality of the fathers, their 
precepts and good examples. 

Michael. And faith, Father McFeason,you are right, 
entirely right. I '11 give up me tricks. I '11 obtain 
never another will. Content, I will be to take me equal 
half of the needful. And faith and I '11 be to meself a 
man agin. 

Feter. And I can be as much as Mike. I '11 give up 
me cups, but niver me inheritance. 

McFeason. That 's noble ! United ye '11 stand, divi- 
ded you would fall. \Music. 

Scene VI. — Sachem's Plain. 

McFeaso?i, priest [looking at the landscape alone\. The 
decision by the colonial commission in Miantonimo's 
case, foreshadowing his immediate execution, bestirs 
the tribes in a manner disheartening to the Narragan- 
setts, and awful to be thought of. Lo, and behold, 
this is Sachem's Plain. This is where the great battle 
by the Narragansetts and Mohegans was fought. This, 
in truth, is the very spot where many a poor Narragan- 



122 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

sett, at the treacherous hand of Uncas, fell. And this 
very soil, although it drank their very blood, is ashamed 
of such a blot in itself of treachery and crime. But 
here is a friend. [Enfer MossuP. 

Mossiip, Mr. McFeason, me hear that Uncas be at 
the jail in Hartford, taking out Miantonimo to bring 
him away. 

McFeason, Yes, Mossup, and Miantonimo is to be 
murdered, clandestinely murdered, as I suppose, at the 
bloody hand of savages. And that being so, vengeance 
at the hand of God and the Narragansetts, shall follow 
the English who, as accessory, dip their hands in 
Miantonimo's innocent blood. Treacherously was that 
old chief made a prisoner of war, and more than treach- 
erously is he now doomed to be betrayed unto death. 

{Exit 

Mossup {interruptingly). Hark ! Look ! {Holding 
up his hands^ and pointing to Uncas and company in 
charge of the prisoner, approaching the plain coining in the 
distance^ Oh, it be Uncas holding on to Miantonimo. 

\In a?i opposite direction from Uncas and men a war- 
whoop breaks forth in the distatice like this : " Woach ! 
woach I ha, ha! woach f^^"] 

U?icas. Forward ! \IIis prisoner, with tied hands, is 
in the ce?itre of the trail as they wind along, and Wawe- 
qua, at the word ^'fot'ward,^^ steps behind Mia?itonimo, 
and strikes him down dead with a tomahawk?^ 
\A dirge?^ 

[Instantly there is a rush from an opposite ambuscade 
by a tribe of Narragansetts, down up07i Uncas and com- 
pany, driving them with great noises of voice and musketry 
out of sight. 




NATIVE MANHOOD, 



MIANTONIMO. 1 23 

Miantonimo. \In his death struggles lifting himself 
half way up, ejaculates^ Curst, cursed be Uncas ! 
Cursed while living and damned when he is dead. I 
am murdered. Treachery cuts me down. Farewell, 
me hunting-grounds. Farewell me sons ! My canoe, my 
bow and arrows are thine. Murdered, me die. Fare- 
well, my dear, dear Narragansetts. Farewell ! farewell ! 
\And falling back, expires. Dirge. Curtain. 

Scene VII. — Same. 

[At once they bury Miantonimo where kefcll^ and then 
they bring cobblestones and are falling in one after another 
heaping theffi upon his grave.] 

Mossiip. Haste, ye Narragansetts, make haste. 
Uncas re-enforced may return to murder you. Bury 
the old chief and haste away. 

Pessacus. Let Uncas come ! Me defy him ! He be 
a cheat, a traitor, a knave. Me '11 bury my dead, and 
me '11 bury me tomahawk deep into Uncas's heart. 
Vengeance on Uncas and on the English. Snares shall 
lay in the warpath of the whiteman and of Uncas. The 
tomahawks and scalping-knives shall hence cleave their 
heads and sever their scalp-locks. Never, never, shall 
the warwhoop and faggot cease to trouble the repose of 
their midnight hours. Stand your ground, then, Narra- 
gansetts. On the grave of me dear old father, your 
chief, it will be manliness to fight, 't will be manliness 
to die. \Thunders mutter in the distance. 

[They continually trail around each other in turn, lay- 
ing a rude stone tenderly upon his grave^ 

[Enter McFeason. 

Pessacus. Here; come to me council. [They all 
leap aroufid him erect, with weapons up presented^ 



124 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Thank ye for the honors ye pile up there. They are 
the tribute of a nation to a dear old chief, to my dead 
father. Out now upon Uncas and upon the English. 
\Thimders mutter^ Down upon the treachery. Death 
to the traitors. Let us away, away. [Musketry explodes 
without. All the tribe answer approvingly — Hoch^ 
woach ! and seizing their weapo?is and giving the war- 
whoop — O Woach I woach I ha^ ha, ha I O woach I they 

fiy. 

McFeason. 

The bloody sunset and the forked light, 
That breaks the curtain of this cruel night, 
Awaking English matrons with alarms, 
To hug sweet infants with tenacious arms. 
Foretells gross carnage of successive years. 
And devastation in a land of tears. 

Woe to the Tribes! Mohegan race and all. 
Of madness moved to famish and to fall, 
To loose the lands, to them ordained in trust. 
Of Heaven high they 've held it from the first. 
Oh, live and learn ! and in this tragic place 
Make most of life, and seek supernal grace. 




DUSTOX STATUE. 



Drama No. 3. . . . Battle of the Bush.— King Philip. 



King Philip. 

(N. E.) 

Sn ?gfetorical ©rama. 

[years 164S TO 1698.] 

By ROBERT B. CAVERLY, 

Poet and Historian. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Leveret Governor. 

Philip . King of the Wampanoags. 

MosELYl Captains. 

Fuller j 



Matilda 

Sassamon 

quinnapin 



. Pilgrim Mother. 
Indian Interpreter. 

Master of Captives. 
RowLANDSON, Mrs. . A Captive. 
Weetamoo. . The Squaw Sachem. 

WhITTAKER AND MaRY. 

•' Old Jethro " . . Indian Leader. 



DUMKINS . . 
LiGHTFOOT . . 

Watachpoo . 
Att'y-General 
Court . . . 
Clerk . . . 
Major Waldron 
Kimball, Mrs. 
Peter .... 
Sir Harbottle. 
wonalancet 



An Aged Hunter. 
Friendly Indian. 
Indian Warrior. 
Of the Crown. 
In Session. 
Of the Court. 
. OfCocheco. 
A Captive. 
One of the Tribe. 
Prisoners' Att'y. 
The Peacemaker. 



ATTENDANTS. 



Nimrod, Aquetesh, Crier of the Court, Bailiff, the three Prisoners, 
Page, Onux, Mattikin, and Hannah Bradley. 



BOSTON 
PUBLISHED BY B. B. RUSSELL. 
1886. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Kings of the Wampanoags, Massasoit and Philip 127 

Weetamoo, the Indian Princess ; her Wigwam and her Exploits . .130 

Philip's (first) Battle with the English at Pettyquamscot 134 

Death of King Philip at the Gunshot of Alderman 137 

The Downfall of Weetamoo in her Flight from the Enemy .... 138 
Hannah Duston ; her Capture, Captivity, and Tragic Release . 139-186 
Sassamon and Philip in a Treaty with the English Governor , . .145 

Passaconaway — his Habits and Opinions . . , , 148 

Murder of Sassamon ; the Cause which induced it 149 

The Court Trial of Indians, Tobias, and others, for Murder . . . ,152 
Philip and Weetamoo when at a Court Trial, and what each said, 159, 160 

Dumkins and Matilda on a Connubial Life 161 

Dialogue at Haverhill, between Lightfoot and Dumkins 166 

Of Mrs. Rowlandson in Captivity, and of Indian Habits and Conflicts, 167 
Pursuit of Philip in the Wilderness by the English ... 170, 172, 177 

Matrimonial Alliance of Whittaker and Mary 179-182 

Major Waldron and Wonalancet in the Release of Mrs. Kimball . .183 

Mother Duston's Captivity, and Captors slain 1S5, 186 

Mrs. Kimball saved from Captivity and Death, and set Free by 

Wonalancet 186-188 

Hannah Bradley shoots Bampico with a Blunderbuss .... 189, 190 

Copyright, 1884, by the Author. All Rights Reserved. 



BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 



KING PHILIP. 

LEGEND NO. 3. 
(king PHILIP, WEETAMOO, AND MOTHER DUSTON.) 

Our Pilgrim Fathers while seeking a home here in 
the wilderness suffered much of hardship. Yet among 
the natives they at once found a friend in Massasoit, 
chief king of the Wampanaogs. With him in all kind- 
liness they made the first treaty, a treaty of mutual 
harmony, which resulted in a peace of fifty years, and 
which lasted through the lifetime of that sagacious 
sachem. Massasoit, about the year 1661 having died, 
his regal mantle fell upon his eldest son, Moo-a-nam, 
alias Wamoutta, and at last upon Alexander.* But 
Alexander soon dying, the sceptre of the tribes de- 
scended to Metacomet, alias Pometacum, his second 
son, who thence became renowned in New England as 
King Philip, the valiant sachem of Mount Hope. 

* Alexander's wife (Philip's mother) was Weetamoo. Drake's Amer- 
ican Indians, Book III., page 3. 

127 



128 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

These brothers, on application, had taken their sev- 
eral English names from the court at Plymouth. Dur- 
ing our first half century there were many intrusions, 
outrages by many of the New England settlers, which 
Philip resented as being against the peaceful dominion 
of his people. He claimed to discover an intent on the 
part of the English to expand their domain, and by 
force to expel his own native nations. Fifty years of 
peace had greatly favored the white settlements, which 
had been extended to numerous hamlets in Maine, 
Massachusetts, Rhode Island and Connecticut, which 
were increasing more generally near the shores of the 
sea. All along the great rivers, nearly or quite, they 
outnumbered the redman, still wandering as native 
hunters of the wilderness. By right of eminent domain 
these natives were then the owners of the soil of New 
England. Philip as king had great power over the 
various tribes, and many prominent friends he had, 
among whom was John Sassamon, an Indian inter- 
preter, who had been trained to an English education, 
and who, by his adherence to Christianity, had assisted 
Eliot, the apostle, in the translation of some portions of 
the English Bible into the Indian language. 

At Natick, about the year 1660, he had been em- 
ployed in the capacity of school teacher, and appears to 
have made himself useful to Alexander, to Philip, and 
sometimes to the English alternately as a clergyman, as 
well as an interpreter and teacher. 

At one time he preached to the Namaskets, and at 
another time to other tribes in or near Middleborough, 
a region wherein Watuspaquin was then a chief. As if 
to induce Sassamon to remain among his people, this 



KING PHILIP. 129 

sagamore favored him with a gratuitous deed of lands 
as follows : — 

" Know all men by these presents that I, old Watuspaquin, 
doe graunt unto John Sassamon, aUias Wassamon, 27 acraes 
of land for a home lot at Assawamsett Necke. This is my 
gift given to him, the said John Sassamon, by me, the said 
Watuspaquin. in Anno 1673." 

Witness alsoe, his 

his Old Watuspaquin, O 

Navehneunt, S. -f- mark. 

mark. his 

William Tuspaquin, D 

mark. 

But Sassamon, as events turned, did not live long to 
enjoy this grant. He had become too familiar with the 
English to suit Philip's notions of safety. He had been 
making known to the Pilgrims of Plymouth Philip's de- 
sign of making war against the settlers. Philip heard 
of this supposed treachery, and thence that interpreter 
was doomed. Afterwards, early in the spring of 1674 
Sassamon was missing, and, search being made, his 
body was found in a pond at Middleboro. Obviously, 
it had been dropt through a hole in the ice, his hat and 
gun having been left near it, as if to indicate suicide. 

Soon three of Philip's men were arrested, tried, and 
convicted by the English as murderers. This murder 
in its tendency was the first step in the commencement 
of Indian conflicts in New England. 

War now was waged — dread anarchy appears ; 

Baleful to blast the crowning thrift of years, 
At death of Massasoit. Philip succeeds 

As king, and hostile to the whites proceeds 
To flagrant deeds — and first all in time, 

A native priest suspected of no crime, 
But to have broached a secret plot, is slain 

By murderous hand. On Philip rests this stain. 



130 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Philip's war having commenced with this and other 
preceding outrages, continued its conflicts from the 
spring of 1674 into the summer of 1676 with unabated 
fury. 

Fixing his head-quarters at Mt. Hope, the tribes 
numerously flocked to his standard, and from that time, 
that war in the wilderness, a war of extermination, ter- 
rible in all of its details, advanced. On the part of the 
white man an effort was made to obtain from Philip and 
his allies treaties of peace, but to no purpose. Among 
Philip's adherents was the squaw sachem of Pocasset : 

WEETAMOO. 

Weetamoo, by the Indian marriage, had been the 
wife of Alexander, and, at his decease, had been wedded 
to Petanuet, alias Quinnapin. Also she was intimately 
allied to Philip, being a sister to the venerable squaw 
of his own choice. 

Weetamoo, as they say, was a proud dame. She 
bestowed upon herself much of ornament in dress, in 
the powdering of her hair, in paints, in necklaces, in 
bracelets, and in other costly jewels. 

Her wigwam was at Pocasset. Petanuet, in July, 
1674, seeking out Captain Church, crossed over to him 
from Philip's headquarters at Mt. Hope, in a canoe, 
and held a conference with that leader of the settlers. 

It was there, and at that time, that Church obtained 
from Patanuet a confirmation of Philip's designs in his 
various apparent preparations for war. 

At this time Weetamoo was at her camp on a high 
hill to the north of Howland's Ferry, and not far from 
the Pocasset shore. Petanuet, inclining to favor the 



KING PHILIP. 131 

English, had invited Church to make her a visit. 
Church accepted, but found her in a melancholy mood. 
She said, " All her men had left her, being absent at 
Philip's war dance. As appears, she talked freely of 
Philip and of his intentions — perhaps too freely. 

Church, on his return to Plymouth, reported this 
squaw sachem rich in lands and strong in power, and 
as being friendly to the English. But, as it turned, 
Philip afterwards having reclaimed her, she advanced 
to the conflict with him, and finally fell, fighting heroic- 
ally in behalf of her own native nationality, as we shall 
soon see. At once the public mind had begun to be 
agitated with anxious fears. The colonial leaders were 
constantly sending from Boston emissaries to the tribes 
in Connecticut, and to the eastward, on the Saco, and 
Kennebeck, disarming them, and securing pledges of 
good faith, and, of course, thereby making at every 
step hostility still the more acrimonious ; yet obtaining 
promises often made, yet often to be violated. Every- 
where, among the planters as well as among the natives 
Loud rumor spoke, and it spoke of blood, carnage, and 
consternation. 

To the end of disarming the New England tribes, 
commissioners having been appointed were, constantly 
on the alert in Massachusetts, Connecticut, and in 
Maine, or wherever the wild man might be found. In 
June, 1675, during all the time the Indian murderers 
were on trial, Philip had had a posse of armed warriors 
on the march, up and down, near the court house at 
Plymouth, and ever afterwards kept his men about him 
in arms, and constantly continued to enlist recruits from 
distant tribes. 



132 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

The English at Plymouth knowing this, ordered a 
mili<"ary watch throughout their settlements, hoping that 
Philip, not finding himself arrested by the court, might 
become appeased, and that from this the war cloud 
might vanish away. 

But the fates ordered otherwise. Philip's strength 
constantly increased by the gathering of the tribes to 
his standard, threatening war. Soon the tribes began 
to invade the settlements, in the killing of cattle, in the 
pillaging of houses, and in now and then a murder. 
At length an Englishman shot at one of the intruders, 
wounded him, but did not kill him. Upon this the 
Indians began to kill the English, with or without cause, 
so that on the 24th of June, 1675, the alarm of war 
sounded throughout the Plymouth Colony. Eight or 
nine of the English were slain in and about Swansey on 
that same day. Soon the Plymouth Governor and 
Council sent out forces in defence of the settlements, 
and transmitted messages to the Governor and Council 
of Massachusetts, and also to Philip, intending to dis- 
suade him, by treaty or otherwise, from his deadly de- 
signs, but all to no purpose. 

The Colonies were alarmed. They obtained a treaty 
with the Naragansetts ; and while this was progressing, 
the English forces were everywhere else advancing to 
the various posts of danger. Some were commissioned 
to negotiate for peace with any of the troublesome 
tribes. Yet all settlers were on the alert to destroy 
Philip, then fortified at Mt. Hope. Still this heroic 
chieftain continued to wander from swamp to swamp, 
and, as opportunity offered itself, making invasions 
upon English settlements. 



KING PHILIP. 133 

Philip, of course, not being ignorant of the active 
warlike preparations of the settlers, and perceiving him- 
self doomed if he remained at Mt. Hope, started, late 
in July, with a strong force of warriors, and advancing 
towards an arm of the sea, and taking advantage of a 
low tide, built rafts of timber, and, in the night-time, 
with all his forces, escaped far away back into the wil- 
derness. But he left behind him many of his women 
and children. Many of his enemies, not knowing his 
whereabouts, remained in camp for a considerable time, 
on the opposite side of the great swamp which sur- 
rounded his fortifications. 

Then, as appears, the tribes to destroy villages, now 
wandering into the Nipmuck territory,"^ were followed, 
and as they advanced were beset by the soldiery of the 
settlers, and by many an ambuscade of traitorous red- 
men, who had united with Englishmen against King 
Philip. 

Thus Philip's terrible conflict commenced and ad- 
vanced. 

Hence, at midnight and at early morn conflagrations, 
trespasses, and murders, of every grade of cruelty, pre- 
vailed throughout the English settlements in New Eng- 
land, without much distinction of age or sex. 

Garrison houses were erected in all the hamlets, and 
in other prominent places, where they stood during an 
hundred years of bloody conflict, and some of them still 
remain, as monuments of a perpetual barbarous conflict, 
up to the present hour. Hence the inhabitants at Swan- 
sey, at Deerfleld, Squawkeag, Swamscot, Hadley, Hat- 

♦ The Nipmuck region was between the rivers Merrimac and Con- 
necticut. 



134 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

field, Medfield, Lancaster, Northfield, Northampton, 
Taunton, Saybrook, and all the way from Mount Hope, 
in Rhode Island, to the Mohawk country, in New York, 
were held in constant consternation. Thence, easterly, 
the inhabitants at Groton, Wamesit, Chelmsford, Bil- 
lerica, Bradford, at Haverhill, Exeter, Cocheco, Salmon 
Falls, Portsmouth, Kittery, Saco, and at York, and still 
eastward to the tarratine country along the Sagadahock, 
all, all, witnessed the sad realities of Philip's power 
amid the horrors of a clandestine, daily and nightly, 
exterminating war. 

Phillip's first battle. 

He had concentrated his Narragansetts at Petty- 
quamscot, in a strong fortress. It was December 19, 
1675, at one o'clock, p. m., when the English arrived, 
after a continuous march through a dark wilderness, 
near to a great swamp, which surrounded Philip's fort. 

Captains Mosely and Davenport were then on the 
lead. Majors Appleton and Oliver were following, 
with the Massachusetts forces. General Winslow, with 
the Plymouth men, in the centre, and the Connecticut 
troops, promptly advancing in the rear, were moving up. 

Upon discovering Indians lurking behind the trees the 
front files fired at them, and their fire was returned from 
the swamp, the Indians flying further in. 

Still they were followed by the invaders, until they 
reached the fort, into which the fugitive Indians betook 
themselves. 

This battleground was an island of four acres, in a 
wilderness, dense, surrounded, as we have said, by a 
swamp. It has since been made an upland meadow. 



KING PHILIP. 135 

being a few feet higher than its adjacent lands, situated 
in South Kingston, Rhode Island. 

In this fort there was but one entrance, yet the In- 
dians had many ways of coming out of it. The sides 
of it were made of palisadoes, set upright, compassed 
about by a thick set, impenetrable hedge, of nearly a 
rod in width. Its usual place of entrance was over 
a long trunk of a tree, extending over a pool of water. 
It portended death, such was the exposure to any and 
all who might venture to enter the fort in that direction. 
At one corner there was a foot-way, made up of a long 
log laying four or five feet from the ground, over which 
files of men might pass ; and nearly opposite to it was 
a blockhouse. 

The invading English filed in upon these, the only 
entrances. But from the blockhouses, as well as from 
the ambush, they were shot down nearly as fast as they 
advanced. Captains Johnson and Davenport both fell. 
The soldiers were driven back ; they threw themselves 
upon the ground to avoid the shots. Many men were 
lost. At length two fresh companies were brought up, 
to another assault, who charged in upon the savages, 
raising the cry, " They run ! they run!^^ 

This frightened the enemy, and encouraged their com- 
rades, and they fought valiantly. The enemy was driven 
from the fort, but not without much loss of life. Great 
were the numbers of the dead in and about the fort and 
swamp. 

Many brave leaders of the English were lost. Cap- 
tains Gallop, Siely, Marshall, Davenport, and Johnson, 
and Lieutenant Upham fell at the on set. 

The contest was fearful. Fire at length was set to 



136 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

the fort, and some of the Indian women and children 
were consumed in the conflagration. How dreadful ! 

On that night the English soldiery marched back to 
their dreary headquarters (nearly fifteen miles), bearing 
upon their shoulders the bodies of their dead and 
wounded, through a wilderness of snow. Their dead 
numbered nearly one hundred. Oh, how the ghosts of 
the natives that fell amid the smoking ruins of that bat- 
tle must have haunted their frosty, weary, midnight 
pathway ! 

To the gallant soldier, true to his duty and to his 
companions, never was there a night more hideous. 
Even outside of the camp, and on the way, many a gen- 
erous heart must have perished. 

It is not to be wondered that the English authorities 
thereafterwards sought safety in attempted fruitless 
treaties during what yet remained of that winter of 
1676. They thence could make but few and faint mili- 
tary movements against Philip and his tribes. Yet 
murders and skirmishes were common as usual, and 
winter being over the war became general. About this 
time Captain Henchman says : — 

" Our twenty-seven scouts brought intelligence that 
the Indians were in continual motion, — some towards 
Narragansett, some towards Wachusett, — lying not 
above one night in a place. They brought in with them 
two squaws, a boy and a girl, giving an account of five 
slain. Yesterday they brought in an old fellow, brother 
of a sachem, six squaws and children, — having killed 
five men and wounded others. Eleven persons we had 
in all, two of whom by council we put to death." 

After many terrible murders herein hinted at and 



KING PHILIP. 137 

many bloody conflicts, on the 12th of August, 1676, an 
Indian came in, who, reporting Philip as having returned 
to Mt. Hope, offered to pilot any force that would 
undertake to follow him. And then a company led by 
Captain Church, part English and part Indians, advanc- 
ing to the great swamp and surrounding it, Philip was 
discovered passing out from it. Church aimed to shoot 
him, but the gun missed fire. Then at the same mo- 
ment Alderman Seaconet, a Narragansett, fired, and 
Philip fell dead, shot through the heart. Also on that 
day five of Philip's men were slain. Here, to a certain 
extent, the great struggle which had threatened the 
final fate of the redman on this New England shore 
was foreshadowed. Indian conflicts had not been 
crushed out nor averted. They continued and afflicted 
the inhabitants here with appalUng horrors almost incess- 
antly from the beginning for nearly an hundre^l years. 

Weetamoo had fallen but a few days prior to Philip's 
death — allied to him and to his squaw. This "Potent 
Princess," having upwards of three hundred Indian 
warriors at her exclusive command, could but have seen 
the entire justice of Philip's war, claiming, as he did, 
supremacy to the red man on this, his native New Eng- 
land soil. 

Moved by the belief that the authorities at Plymouth 
had poisoned Alexander, her former husband, and that 
in this war they had misled her present one, it was not 
at all strange that Weetamoo should have been led to 
take sides with King Philip in his many battles for the 
life of the native nations. His fortune thus had been 
made her own, and she moved from place to place to 
his support in all of his inroads upon the whiteman. 



138 PATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

At the conflicts in the wilderness of the Nip-mucks it 
is said she had lost at least one half of all her fighting 
men, but with her other half, with becoming prudence, 
retired to the fortifications within her own territory. 

But, as the fates would have it, she, on the 5th of 
August, 1676, six days prior to Philip's death, in at- 
tempting to cross Ichticut River upon a raft, with the 
view, probably, of escaping the English soldiery then in 
pursuit, and whether swimming or being washed ashore, 
her body was afterwards found there upon its rock- 
bound banks. 

Yet so heartless was the whiteman of that hour, 
the head of Weetamoo was severed, and thereafter- 
wards was piked upon a pole in Taunton. And so it 
was, that the Indian prisoners, passing by, made loud 
lamentations at the dead face of their dear old " Potent 
Princess." 

Thus have we arrived to the end of King Philip and 
of Weetamoo, alike heroic in life and in death. 

At the downfall of Weetamoo, Philip is represented 
by the poet as having heard her cries from the river 
shore, and in his distraction, as flying from her dying, 
ghostly form, thus : — 

"As from the water's depth she came, 
With dripping locks and bloated frame, 
\ Wild^ her discolored arms she threw 

To grasp him ; and as quick he flew. 
Her hollow scream, he heard behind, 
Came mingling with the hollow wind : 
Why fly from Weetamoo ? She died, 
Braving the battle on thy side." 

* The English, as appears, had sent a thousand men to capture Wee- 
tamoo, trusting that if taken, her lands sequestered could be made to pay 
all expenses of the war. 



KING PHILIP. 139 



HANNAH DUSTON. 

The daring exploits of this heroine, with her assist- 
ants, Mary Neff and Samuel Leonardson on the Island 
Contoocook in New Hampshire, will forever be remem- 
bered and cherished as a treasure. Like an heirloom, 
it shall impart inspiration, — an inspiration which, dif- 
fusing itself, shall tend to elevate the aspirations of the 
descendants of our old New England mothers through- 
out many ages yet to come; mothers who lived in a 
day of trial, but whose energetic truthfulness historic 
hath never been surpassed, and whose endurance, faith- 
fulness, and valor, tried and made manifest in the midst 
of savages are, in the tragic adventures of " Mother 
Duston " most truthfully exemplified. 

HER BIOGRAPHY. 

Hannah Duston was born in Haverhill, Mass., Dec. 
23, 1657 ; was the daughter of Michael and Hannah 
Webster Emerson ; was married to Thomas Duston 
Dec. 3, 1677 ; and, up to the date of her captivity, had 
become the mother of a family of children, twelve at 
that date, thirteen in all. 

THE INDIAN ONSET. 

She was captured at Haverhill, March 15, 1697, her 
infant then being only a week old. Mary Neff, then a 
widow, a neighbor, and friend was with her, and, for 
the time being, was having a care for the household. 

The tribes throughout New England, as appears, 
had, for several years prior to this attack, beset the 
English settlements by trespassing upon their corn- 



140 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

fields, killing their cattle, taking and carrying away 
captives, and daily and nightly murdering the inhab- 
itants, burning down their barns, the lonely cot, and 
their infant villages. 

Always in their depredations upon the Pilgrim set- 
tlers they had been cunning, ferocious, coy, cruel. Pre- 
vious to this Duston massacre, they had taken at 
Worcester, Mass., Samuel Leonardson, a youth of some 
fourteen summers, and had him along with them among 
their captives. 

At Haverhill, on that fifteenth day of March, 1697, — 
according to the tactics of Indian warfare, — they 
divided their tribes into small parties, and made the 
attack all around the town, everywhere very nearly at 
the same moment ; so that on that day, in and about 
that little inland, rural village, they took and carried 
away thirteen captives, burned down nine dwelling- 
houses, and killed twenty-seven of its inhabitants, — 
men, women, and children. 

THE SLAIN. 

The individuals then and there killed were John 
Keezer, his father, and son George ; John Kimball and 
his mother Hannah ; Sarah Eastman, Thomas Eaton, 
Thomas Emerson, his wife Elizabeth, and two children, 
— Timothy and Sarah ; Daniel Bradley, his wife Han- 
nah, and two children — Mary and Hannah ; Martha 
Dow, daughter of Stephen Dow ; Joseph, Martha, and 
Sarah Bradley, children of Joseph Bradley; Thomas 
and Mehitable Kingsbury; Thomas Wood and his 
daughter Susannah ; John Woodman and his daughter 
Susannah ; Zechariah White ; and Martha, the infant 
daughter of Mrs. Duston. 



KING PHILIP. 141 



THE OLD COT. 

Mrs. Duston's house stood not far from the left bank 
of the Merrimack River, on the north side of the road, 
about a mile and a half from that little hamlet, now the 
city of Haverhill, populous, opulent, and thriving. Mary 
Neff 's birthplace was near the Duston homestead. 

FIRST SIGHT OF SAVAGES. 

On that day, Thomas Duston (the husband) was in 
some way startled in his field at the approach of sav- 
ages. He seized his gun, mounted his horse, and, 
driving his children before him, seven in number, — ages 
from two to seventeen years, — all escaped. It has 
been said that guns were fired at him, and that he re- 
turned the shots ; but this statement is beclouded with 
at least some doubt. It is, however, said, and perhaps 
correctly, that the Indians did not pursue him far, for 
fear of the English ; and that he, with the children, took 
shelter in an old house supposed to have been used oc- 
casionally as a garrison. 

In the meantime, the Indians at the homestead had 
seized Mrs. Duston, Mary, and the infant, forced the 
child from Mary's arms, and killed it against an apple- 
tree, and, pillaging and setting fire to the dwelling-house, 
drove their captives away into the wilderness, — a wil- 
derness then dense, dark, pathless, and thorny, — and 
wandered northward towards Canada. 

The cold snows of winter had not entirely disappeared. 
Yet were they compelled to advance, reclining at night 
upon the frosty earth to obtain rest and strength, and 
then up at break of day, continuing their ramblings 



142 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

near to the Merrimac, through thewilderness ; thus on- 
ward until they reached that Indian fort on the island 
between the waters of the Contoocook and Merrimac 
Rivers. 

ISLAND CONTOOCOOK. 

As appears, this island, containing about two acres, 
then (and now) covered with a dense forest, was the 
adopted home of one of the tribes ; and, from its sur- 
roundings, it served to be a strong fortification against 
their common enemy, the English settlers. 

For fifteen days they had continued their march 
through the forest, — a distance of seventy-five miles, 
according to our reckoning, but according to Indian 
computations of that time, two hundred and fifty m.iles. 

But before they reached the island, the tribe divided 
into two parts ; the one, with several captives (among 
whom was Hannah Bradley), continued still farther 
onward, to another place, while the other company, 
with Mrs. Duston, Neff, and Samuel, crossed over, in 
their birch canoes, to dwell, at least for a night, on the 
island between the safe surroundings at the junction of 
these two beautiful rivers. 

On their way the Indians had talked of another fort 
of theirs, in Canada, and had intimated to the captives 
that, upon their arrival there, they would be held to run 
the gantlet, according to the law and custom of the 
tribes. 

As if to add to these worst of cruelties, the tribes 
often made sale of their captives to the French, in Can- 
ada, — then hostile to the English settlers in New Eng- 
land, — to be held to service by them, as slaves. 

In sight of all the severities to which they had already 



KING PHILIP. 143 

been subjected, and in view of impending disgrace and 
danger, these chree (Duston, Neff, and Samuel) secretly 
took counsel together, and resolved to liberate them- 
selves. 

HOW TO KILL AN INDIAN. 

Thereupon the boy Samuel inquired of one of the 
tribe (" Bampico ") as to where he would strike if he 
would kill a man instantly, and how he would take off 
the scalp. 

The Indian, bringing his finger against his temple, 
made answer, " Strike him there ! " and he then pro- 
ceeded to tell him how to take off the scalp. 

ON THE ISLAND. 

There, on that night (March 30, 1697), the camp-fires 
in front of the wigwams blazed pleasantly, and the tribe 
in front of them reclining, and burdened with the fatigue 
of a restless journey, of course slept soundly. Having 
a heed to all this, the captives patiently awaited the 
midnight hour; and then, cautiously, noiselessly, ob- 
taining the tomahawks, and moving with concert of action, 
they struck the deadly blow. None of the Indians es- 
caped alive, save one old squaw, covered with wounds, 
and an Indian boy, whom the captives did not incline to 
pursue. 

NUMBER OF VICTIMS. 

Ten of them were slain. The captives, in their haste, 
at first left the wigwams without full evidence of what 
had been done ; yet soon returned, took off the ten 
scalps, taking also with them an Indian gun and toma- 
hawk ; and then, seeking to avoid pursuit, they scuttled 
the canoes, all but one, and in that they floated down 



144 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

the Merrimac as far as they could, for the falls, and 
thence along its left bank, as tradition has it, until they 
arrived home safely at Haverhill. 

On the 2ist of April, in the same year (1697) they 
visited Boston, carrying with them, as evidence of their 
achievement, the scalps, the gun, and tomahawk ; and, 
on the 8th of June thereafterwards the General Court 
awarded to Mrs. Dustin a gift of jC^Sf 3.nd to Mary 
Neff and Samuel Leonardson ;^i2, 10s each. Colonel 
Nicholson, then governor of Mar}'land, upon hearing of 
the transaction, also transmitted complimentary presents 
to them. Many thanks, as well as material gifts, were 
extended to them by many others, then and for more 
than forty years afterwards ; and, as we have said : — 

They Haverhill reached, to whom from governors, even, 
Came generous gifts, and thankful plaudits given ; 
And there they rest. There upward points to-day 
A monument of praise for Duston's clay. 
Her noble deeds are held in high renown, 
Sacred, like heirloom, in that ancient town ; 
And long as Merrimack's bright waters glide 
Shall stand that mother's fame still by its side. 



KING PHILIP. 



ACT I. 

Scene. — Governors Office. 

Leverett {Gover7ior). Troublesome years, these; yet 
fast advancing they are constantly losing themselves. 
Tradition, true to her task, often, too often, is led to 
repeat the startling events of savage war, — war at 
home, war abroad, — a dread war which, of late, has 
developed itself, at morn and at night, in the destruc- 
tion of the Pequots. True, the hand of Sassacus had 
been fortified offensively against us all. He had moved 
in hostility to the Mohegans, the Narragansetts, and to 
the Mohawks, as well as to our English. Thus in the 
light of Heaven let our enemies perish ! 

Fuller. True, Governor, let the aggressor perish ! 
As to the Mohawks, they too had been bearing in their 
bodies poisoned deep-cut scars which Sassacus himself 
had made. Hence they killed him. 

Leverett. Indeed, but he had nowhere else to go. 
He depended for his life upon an irritated, unforgiving, 
merciless Mohawk ; at the hand of the Mohawk he fell. 
Sassacus was cruel, — others are cruel, — yet many 
sagamores there have been of good heart. Massasoit 

145 



146 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

was peaceful. He lived prudently, and dying, left the 
world full of years and full of honors. But now it is 
otherwise. Philip, offensively of wrongs complaining, 
leads the hostile tribes. In the reign of Massasoit 
prosperity and peace crowned honest labor. In his 
life^ throughout our habitations there was joy ; in his 
deaths mourning. Alas ! alas ! Philip reigns, bringing 
troublesome threatenings to these colonies. 

Fuller. But may not some of the rumors which ap- 
pear to move the mind of your excellency, prove in the 
end to be unfounded ? 

Leverett. This matter the authorities have of late 
been considering ; and we still hold the subject under 
advisement. To Philip we had sent communications, 
and long since he has been informed of our desire in 
the future, as in the past, to foster and maintain ami- 
cable treaties between the tribes and the colonies. 

\Enter Philip, Nimrod, Aquetequesh, and Sassa- 
MON,* their I?iferp refer.'] 

Sassamon. Governor, allow me to present to your 
highness, Philip of Pokanoket, chief proprietor of lands 
in New England, and great chief of the Wampanoags. 
Him I present, and am pleased to say, he claims for 
himself and nation, friendship to your settlers, and 
loyalty to the great king of Great Britain. {They greet 
each other?) 

Philip. And these be Aquetequesh and Nimrod, my 
friends and thy friends {int?'oducing theni). 

Leverett. Philip of Pokanoket, what say you to this ? 
Are you and your tribes loyal and friendly to out 
settlers ? 

♦ Sassamon was an Indian graduate at Cambridge, in 1661. 



KING PHILIP. 147 

Philip. In answer, me be free to say, we most ar- 
dently desire a continuance of that friendship and good 
will that, from the beginning, hath alwa3^s existed be- 
tween the governors of Plymouth and my deceased 
father Massasoit, and my brother Alexander, who be 
also gone to the Great Spirit. 

Leverett. King Philip, allow me to inquire : Will you 
bear true allegiance to the sovereignty of Great Britain ? 
Will you conform to our English laws ? Will you defend 
our faith ? And are you prepared to enter into a colo- 
nial treaty with us, such as we, in this proposed treaty, 
have prescribed ? {Passing a paper to Philips and Philip 
to Sassamon, and then addressing his Excellency?) 

Philip. By your permission, we will retire, taking 
the articles of agreement with us ; and when we have 
considered their contents fully and carefully, we will 
return and inform ye. 

\Exit Philip, Sassamon, and his attendants. Enter 

DUMKINS.] 

Dumkhis. Well, Governor, what prospect have ye of 
a reconciliation with Philip and his tribes ? He as they 
tell me, is an old coon. 

Leverett. We have submitted to the consideration of 
Philip and his sagamores articles of treaty, which they 
have taken away, and they are now holding the same 
under advisement. If the treaty is now in good faith to 
be made satisfactory^ and signed^ we may have peace. 
If, however, Philip refusing, rejects the articles of 
agreement, perhaps, as we fear, war may follow. \Exit. 

Dumkins. War? Yes, war^ and I guess you will 
have it. What faith can be found in savages ? Trea- 
ties with them are useless, they are of no more impor- 



148 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

tance than the stories of old Mother Goose. They may 
serve only for children to play with. Pleasing indade, 
they may be to them ; especially if there are any pic- 
tures hitched on to um. Miserable cripples in crime, 
they are never to be depended on. \Enter Fuller.] 
They are too lazy to live. They get drunk and freeze 
to death, even in fair weather. 

Fuller. True ; not long ago one of them was found 
dead up in one of our parishes. They found him 
where he had staggered about and keeled up under an 
old shed. 

Dumkins. Yes; and upon his carcass the Indians 
held a coroner's inquest. And their verdict was this : 
" Died from the freezing of a large quantity of water 
inside of him ^ 

Fuller. I remember that old chief, Passaconoway. 
He made a speech to his tribes up at Patucket Falls. 

Dumkins. I 've heard of him. Ignorant as an old 
jack. Says he : " We are powerless as against the pale- 
faces ; yet I can take the rattlesnake in my palm, as I 
would a worm, without harm ; I have communication 
with the Great Spirit." This, as you know, was the 
soothsayer, Passaconaway. I '11 tell ye what, Captain 
\enter Governor], take that speech on a summer's day, 
go out, get up upon a great rock, and read it aloud, and 
ye '11 drive all the bugs out of yr tater field ; 't will kill 
all the grubs and tadpoles in the mud-puddle. But here 
they come. [Enter Philip a7id Sassamon. 

Sassamon. We, with Philip, have read and consid- 
ered your excellency's articles of agreement. Philip 
most cordially concurs with the colonies, desiring peace, 
— such peace as his deceased father had. He and we 



KING PHILIP. 149 

have signed the treaty (^passing it to Church). And to 
ratify this, our treaty, Philip, through me, his interpreter 
and counsellor, tenders to you this, our pipe of peace. 
\Governor receives it, smoking. The Indians sit and 
smoke, atid soofi leap into a dance, and dancing retire?^ 
[Music] 

Scene II. 

Leverett. Now that the treaty with Philip hath been 
signed and ratified, I trust, that for a while at least, we 
will be able to hold him to his good behavior. 

{Enter Sassamon, returning in haste. 

Sassamon (to Fuller). Captain, you will not betray 
me if I make to you a suggestion. 

Fuller. Certainly not, Sassamon. What say you? 

Sassamon. Me have strong surmises that King Phil- 
ip's treaty, recently ratified, will not restrain him from 
hostile invasions. My respect to the English and for 
their lives induces me in private to say, Philip means 
murder. Protect me ! Protect me ! And may the Great 
Spirit protect you. [Exit. Enter Dumkins. 

Dumkins. Captain, that treaty of Philip's, to my 
mind, is not much of anything but a sell. I guess we 
are kinder sold out. I have had no faith in that old 
curse of a king, no how. Some of um are friendly, but, 
let me tell ye, beware of Philip. He 's a wolf. He 
comes to ye in the clothing of an honest old sheep, but 
beware of him. 'T will be prudent hence for the watch- 
dog to guard the sheepfold. Look out for the lambs. 

Fuller. It 's true, there may be treachery. Trea- 
ties may be violated. But when that event happens, 
the outrage must be met at the threshhold. Expedition 



150 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

in the detection and punishment of crime is a necessity. 
The Colonial governments are united ; our English 
jurisprudence is wise and strong. In the end these 
savages will be driven out. Meantime patiently must 
we wait. Philip's treaty is reasonable ; the olive branch 
of peace is in it, and it may prove effective. With 
hearts humane, in the course of events, the exercise of 
reason may work wonders. [Enter Watachpoo.] Here 
comes a friend. 

Watachpoo. Captain, ye need not have suspicions 
of Philip. I have confidence, Philip seeks peace. He 
holds lands for sale. Still he proposes a sale to the 
English. Has made many sales. Sales to Benton and 
others of Taunton to the extent of twelve miles square, 
at the price of many pounds ; and to Constant South- 
worth lands four miles square ; and to John Cook, 
an island near the town of Nokatay for ;^io. Other 
tracts Philip has sold. He has much other lands still 
to sell. 

Fuller. But is he not making sales by which to ob. 
tain the means for accomplishing hostile designs ? 
While evil rankles in his heart, does he not feign friend- 
ship, meditating war and blood. Ah ! here he is. 
\E71ter Philip.] How now, Philip of Pokanoket, our 
distinguished ally ? What good conditions have ye to 
offer ? Are you willing to sell and convey lands to us 
as heretofore ? 

Philip. Yes, I have come to inform you and your 
Governor that I, Philip, am willing to sell the lands 
described within this draft {^presenting it to Fuller), 
" but the Indians that are upon it ma}^ live upon it 
still, but the land [that is waste] may be sould, and 



KING PHILIP. 151 

Watachpoo is of the same minde." " Herein I have 
sed downe all the principal names of the land wee are 
willing should be sould." We leave it for you to con- 
sider."* S^Exit Philip and Watachpoo, leavmg the draft. 

Dumkins (aside). That old Hellion, as I guess, 
owns all the land that joins on to him. Wonder where 
he stole it. Guess his title to it is something like 
mine. I owned a lot of land once — a mighty big farm 
— but the divvil of it was, as it turned oute, an old rep- 
robate of a Jew owned another farm right on top on't. 
I could n't get in, nor I could n't git oute. So I slopp'd 
over. Philip on his title will do the same. In the 
eend he'll slop over, — drizzle, drizzle oute — and then 
he'll kinder skedaddle. Ah! ha! ha! ha! But 
{hands up) who comes ? 

Mosely, Captain {entering in haste). Just now I have 
returned from the lake. Sassamon, our Indian inter- 
preter, has been murdered. Murdered, as they say, for 
reason that he had secretly divulged to our Puritans 
Philip's plot to murder us, — a plot evincing an intent 
to make war upon our English colonies. 

Dumkins. By whom was Sassamon slain ? 

Mosely. He was slain of Philip's men. Murdered ! 
His body was dropped through the ice into a pond. 
Wampapaquan, Mattashananna, and Tobias are the 
assassins suspected and pursued. Yes, he is murdered. 
True it is ; and the messenger now here announces 
that the murderers are already arrested, and that in our 
English court they are soon to be tried. 

Dumkins. Wahl, that work of white men trying 
Indians, if I guess right, will be a short job. I take it, 
* This was on the 24th of the 12 mo. 1668. 



152 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

they won't stop to read the riot act. No ; I guess 
they '11 never split hairs on Philip's cases about English 
laws or Indian laws. No ; most gloriously, they '11 be 
swung off in a hurry. 

Mosely. The legal objections, I am told, are to be 
obviated. Some of the friendly Indians, as well as 
Englishmen, are to sit as jurors. 

Dumkms. Just let um put me upon that jury. In- 
dians ; I 'd hang the whole of um. Mosely, tell that 
high sheriff that Major Dodipher Dumkins will accept 
the office of a juryman and hangman too. Tell him 
they shall have my deliberate services and my solemn, 
sanctimonious, pugnacious, judicial sanction to the hang- 
ing of the redskins, all of um, as high as Haman, and 
that too, faithfully, free of expense, free gratis, and for 
nothing. [Curtaifi. 

Scene III. — A court room, court and jury seated^ and 
prisoners prese7it. 

Judge. Mr. Crier, you will open the Court. 

Crier, Hear ye ! hear ye ! Any person or persons 
having anything to do before this Honorable Court, 
holden in and for the County of Plymouth, may now 
draw near and they shall be heard. God save the 
Crown. 

Attorney General. May it piease the Court. I move 
that this court may at once proceed to the trial of 
Wampapaquan, Mattashananna, and Tobias, now held 
here under an indictment charged with the murder of 
John Sassamon, the jury having been empanelled and 
sworn to that end. 

Judge. Let the trial proceed. 



KING PHILIP. 153 

Clerk {to the prisoners?) Hearken to an indictment 
found against you by the grand inquest of the body of 
this county. 

Clerk reads. Indictment. The jurors in and for 
this, our county of Plymouth, on their oaths present, 
tliat Wampapaquan, Mattashananna, and Tobias, — 
"for that being accused, that they did with joint intent 
upon the 29th of January, Ann. 1674, last past, at a 
place called Assawomset Pond, willfully and with sett 
purpose, and of malice aforethought, and by force and 
arms murder John Sassamon, another Indian, by laying 
violent hands on him, and striking him, or twisting his 
necke untill hee was dead : and to hide and conceale 
this theire said murder att the tyme and place aforesaid, 
did cast his dead body through a hole of the ice into 
the said pond."' 

Wampapaquan, what say you to this indictment; 
are you guilty or not guilty 1 

Wampapaquan. Me no guilty. 

Clerk. Mattashananna, what say you ? Are you 
guilty or not guilty ? 

Mattasha7ianna. Me no guilty. 

Clerk. Tobias, what say you to this {holding up the 
paper^ 1 Are you guilty or not guilty ? 

Tobias. And me no guilty. 

Clerk. Wampapaquan, Mattashananna, Tobias, stand 
up. You are to be tried ; and these good men whom I 
now shall call are to set upon your trial. If you object 
to any of them you will do so when they are called and 
before they are sworn. 

Wampapaquan. Me no lawyer, me no object. 

Mattashananna. Me no lawyer, but me object. 



154 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Tobias. Me object to um all. 

Clerk {calling the jury). Wm.- Sabine, Wm. Crocker, 
Edward Sturgis, Wm. Brooks, Nath'l Winslow, John 
VVadsworth, Andrew Ringe, Robert Vixon, John Done, 
Jona. Bangs, Jona. Shaw, Benja. Higgins ; also Indians, 
— Hope, Maskippaque, Wannoo, George Wampye, and 
Acanootus, hold up youi right hands : "You, and each 
of you, faithfully affirm that you will well and truly try 
the issue between the crown and these defendants ac- 
cording to law and evidence." Gentlemen of the jury, 
hearken to the evidence. 

Attorney General. Your Honors, in this. New Eng- 
land's first capital trial under British laws, I appear for 
the Crown. These respondents are red men, are na- 
tives of this soil, and have little or no knowledge of the 
law, or of the courts. Hence, by that forbearing benev- 
olence which our common law sustains, they are enti- 
tled to the advice of counsel. This being so, I now 
move that some counsellor, versed in English jurisprii- 
dence, may be appointed to appear here in behalf of 
the defendants. 

Court. Prisoners, have you any counsel to speak for 
you ? 

Tobias. None, me none. 

Mattashananna. None. 

Wampapaqua. None, me have none. 

Attorney General. I see present here in attendance 
a counsellor, learned in the law. Sir John Harbottle. I 
suggest and move that he may be appointed by the 
court to be counsellor of the prisoners. 

Judge. No objection being made, let Sir John Har- 
bottle be appointed. 



KING PHILIP. 155 

Harbottle. I will accept the trust, if it please yr 
Honors, provided that Philip, King of the Tribes, may 
be allowed to appear here an assistant, to aid me in 
defence of the accused. I pray that he may be sent 
for, found, and, to that end, be induced to come in. 

Judge. Let Philip be notified, but the trial must 
proceed. 

Attorney General. Your Honors and you of the jury. 
In behalf of the Crown of England, and in support of a 
civil government within the jurisdiction of these New 
England Colonies, We prosecute these prisoners. The 
offence of which they are charged in the indictment, 
which has been read to them, is wilful murder. I will 
prove to you that John Sassamon, a man of much 
learning and merit,* who had been an Indian preacher, 
an interpreter, and secretary to King Philip, at Assa- 
womset Pond, on the 29th day of January last past, in 
a brutal manner, was slain. The Crown will show that 
these prisoners, entertaining a suspicion that Sassamon 
had divulged to the English certain secrets, which 
tended to reveal Philip's warlike purpose, fell upon him 
in the dark and lonely night, and in a brutal manner 
maimed and murdered him. That in doing this, they 
were moved of malice aforethought, and had been in- 
stigated by the Devil and King Philip. Gentlemen, 
these facts I propose to prove ; and, against the pris- 
oners, will claim a verdict of guilty at your hands. 
The government witnesses will stand forth as they are 
called. 

High Sheriff (announcing aloud). If the court please. 

* John Sassamon had been an Indian graduate at Harvard College in 
1661. 



156 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Philip, it is rumored, is in secret hostility ; that he is 
out concentrating his tribes for the onset at war. The 
messenger, however, will endeavor to find him. 

Judge. The trial will proceed. 

Attorney General. Witnesses for the Crown stand 
up and be sworn. {Patuckson and other Indians arise 
to their places). 

Clerk {to witnesses). Hold up your right hands. " You 
severally swear that the evidence you give, relative to 
the cause now in hearing, shall be the truth, the whole 
truth, and nothing but the truth. And this you affirm 
under the penalties of the law. 

Attorney General. Patuckson, take the stand. 

Harbottle {to the Court). I challenge this man. He 
must not be allowed to be a witness. He has not the 
fear of God, being an ungodly heathen. I most re- 
spectfully submit, that this Patuckson has no knowledge 
or belief in our God, and hath no belief in future re- 
wards and punishments. 

Judge. Sir Harbottle, you will be allowed to put the 
witness upon his voire dire. You may make of him the 
inquiry. 

Harbottle. Patuckson, state to the court whether you 
are or are not a believer in our God. 

Patuckso7i. Me be like Philip. Me no believer in 
Englishman's God. 

Sir Harbottle {to Patuckson). Do you believe that in 
the great future there will be rewards for well-doing 
and punishments for sin at the hand of an over-ruling 
Providence ? 

Patuckson. Me no Englishman ; no Christian ; me 
no believe such thing. 



KING PHILIP. 157 

Harbottle (to the Judge). Your Honor, I challenge, 
I object to this witness. His incompetency is most 
manifest. No principle of law is more clearly decided 
and sustained than this is, to wit : that no disbeliever 
in a future accountability can be allowed to give evi- 
dence in a court like this. The rights of these pris- 
oners, laboring beneath subtle prejudices, in sight of 
an excited public opinion, now already magnified into 
madness against them and their race ought, of right, to 
be carefully guarded and protected. The witness in 
question should be held and bound by the strongest 
ties to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. His 
evidence should be purified and made legal and certain 
by the obligations of an oath. But of what use is an 
oath without a Deity, and without any belief in one } 
To administer an oath to such a witness would be 
a nullity — merest mockery. To administer an oath 
under such a disbelief, or to admit such testimony, as I 
submit, would be to violate the common law, which has 
been established and adhered to by the Crown in all 
cases, and through all periods of time. Indeed an 
oath is nothing without God. The law recognizes no 
truth save through Him. These defendants, if con- 
victed at all, must be convicted by the strict rules of 
English law. Indians they are, guilty they may be; yet 
better, better by far, that they escape a punishment 
justly due, than that any plain principle of law should 
be violated. Heathens they may be, yet they are hu- 
man, they are men with hearts and souls as we, and as 
such ought to be tried. 



158 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Wild in the world, yet true to self and squaw, 

They have no Faith, no code but Nature's law, 

No light, nor love beyond the sultry sun, 

Their heaven above is hunting here begun ; 

By laws unwritten, sachems rule the tribes, 

Leading the hosts wherever ill betides 

To fatal war. By force of arrows hurled, 

They 've reigned sole monarchs in this western world. 

Such, and of such, may it please your Honors, is the 
faith of this witness, who, without the least obligation 
under an oath to tell the truth, is called here by the 
Crown and against these prisoners to swear away their 
lives. Under what law, what reason, or what right can 
this be done ? Depending on such testimony and 
nothing else, how, we ask, can this indictment be sus- 
tained ? 

Attorney General. In replying to the arguments of 
the learned counsel for respondents, I freely concede 
there is much reason in it. Yet, we submit, that the 
testimony which is offered on our part being the best 
of which the case admits, ought of right to be admitted 
by the court. None but Indians had cognizance of the 
murder of Sassamon. The Crown offers no witnesses 
save these red men, whom I have called, being native 
Indians, companions, and of the same race of Sassamon 
himself. 

If the defendants were now being tried under Philip, 
and under the laws of the red man, these witnesses 
would be taken to be competent, and would, of course, 
be admitted to testify in such a court. If they would 
be competent there, why not competent here ? In 
either place, oath or no oath, the evidence offered is 
the best of which the case admits ; these being the only 



KING PHILIP. 159 

witnesses which had knowledge of the facts which at- 
tended the murder. The question now forcibly presents 
itself : Shall these witnesses be allowed to testify, or 
shall the blood-stained murderers of Sassamon stand 
acquitted without a trial, and hence, without day, to go 
free ? \Eiiter the bailiff attended by King Philip in his 
plumes7\ 

Court. We incline to admit the witness. And Philip, 
you have been notified in behalf of the prisoners at the 
bar, that you might appear here. If you have anything 
to say, you will be allowed to speak. 

Philip. Speak ? I, Philip, will speak : 

What law, what right, these prisoners to arraign, 

Have Englishmen ? Is n't this me own domain ? 

What lease of venue from alloted lines 

Have I ordained, that you may judge of crimes? 

Why seek the Indian's life, in guile forlorn, 

Of these three men of Indian mothers born ; 

They, one and all, with Sassamon the slain, 

Are my liege subjects bound by laws the same 

Which governed tribes a thousand years ago. 

But which, evaded, brings an endless woe ? 

What mind, what project prompts yr boundless sway, 

But hence to drive the red man, far away 

From this fair land, his birthright and his wealth, 

And hold these regions vast through royal stealth ? 

With such a wrong the Tribes shall ne'er concur, 

And to your bold intrusions I demur 1 

My subjects here an English court may try, 
By spurious judgments they may fall and die : * 

Yet, vengeance dread, shall point the red man's steel. 
And to the God of battles I '11 appeal 1 * 

\_£xif. 
[Curtain. Dirge ^ 

• From Caverly's Epics, pages 343, 344. 



[60 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 



Scene IV. — Court room, 
[Enter Weetamoo /;/ costume^ and her attenddJtts.\ 
Weetamoo. 

Philip, withdrawn, he '11 ne'er return ag^, 
His talk was truthful — yet his words were vain — 
The prisoners held, and still condemned to die, 
Brings darkness gathering o'er this western sky, 

{Thunders mutter^ frequently flashijig. Indians kncri.) 

The bloody sunset, and that forked light. 
Which breaks the curtain of this fearful night, 
Awaking English matrons 'mid alarms, 
To hug sweet infants with tenacious arms, 
Foretells gross carnage of successive years, 
And devastation in a land of tears. 



IPirge.] 



ACT II. 

Scene I. A kitchen, 

Dumkins. Well, they tell me there 's a love match 
over here. It has been made over there in Uncle Jo 
Bradley's clay pit. John Slendergrass says he thinks 
there 's no sort of doubt on 't. Mary Mack has been 
an assistant, under the protection of the old man Brad- 
ley's garrison ; and Jo Whittaker being there at work 
also, kinder took a shine to her. The Injuns had kid- 
napped old Jo's wife twice. The last time, they sold 
her to a Frenchman in Canada. Jo went after her 
with a hand-sled, and, of course, she is at home again. 
He redeemed her with a gallon of rum, five pounds of 
tobacco, and a bladder of snuHf. In these nights the 
Indians are again sneaking about, trying to kidnap her. 
But old Hannah is in a garrison, I dare say, now. 
She '11 be enough for um. [Eftter Matilda.] High, 
ho, Matilda 1 How are ye ? What news from the 
garrison ? How as to Jo and Mary ? 

Matilda. Oh, it is that love affair, ye mean. Jo 
loves her hugely, but he is afraid to tell of it. He is at 
work in the clay pit, and Mary is always busy in and 
about the industries of the household, and in whatever 
pertains to a livelihood. 



1 62 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Dumkins. Jo is too young to get married. He 
has n't yet passed beyond his teens. More than all 
that, — he's no proj^erty, no house, no land on which 
to build a cabin, not even a tater patch, and when the 
young Whittakers begin to squall, what is Jo agwine 
to do ? 

Matilda. Oh, Joseph, in the first place, is a young 
man of good health, of good morals, and of good man- 
ners, and, best of all, he has high and noble aspirations, 
without which there can be no success in this world for 
anybody. Be assured Joseph's industrious habits will 
always secure to him a manly independence wherever 
he is, married or unmarried. 

Dumkins. But what 's the use of marrying when ye 
can be independent without it ? I have a tent, a dog, 
and a blunderbuss, as ye can see. I long since de- 
clared my independence. What more in this wilderness 
do I need ? The wild beasts, the bear, the moose, and 
the marten of the forest feed me ; the rills, sparkling 
and cool as they leap from the mountains, quench me 
thirst ; and the boughs from the pine tree, the fir and 
the hemlock, within me tent pillow my head. 

Matilda. But, sir, you will concede that all men do 
not incline to the same occupations, nor do they seek 
the same manner of life, nor the same mode of living. 
Joseph Whittaker, it may be, has a higher estimate of 
social life than yourself — 

Dumkins (interrupting). If he don't, he '11 never 
get married, ye may better believe. I'm coy of the 
women. If one should get angry with me, I should n't 
be likely to surrender, and she would n't, and wliat 
then .? 



KING PHILIP. 163 

Matilda. Then, then there would be a squall, I 
suppose. 

Dumkins. Yes, a squall, a devil of a blast, a catter- 
wauling would echo aloud from the kitchen, if from 
nowhere else. 

Matilda. Joseph has a well-balanced mind, is social 
in his nature, is enured to the common industries of 
life. He, of course, will succeed in whatever he under- 
takes. There are set before us two kinds of lives, — 
savage life and civil life, — that life which culminates 
in loneliness or in tribes, as man originally started, or 
a life in more refined conditions, such as Europeans 
under the civil code seek to honor. This it may be 
wise to love and cherish. 

Diwikins. But Jo is in love with that gal, and if he 
marries he loses one half of his independence. 

Matilda. Independence! "God never made an 
independent man." In the primeval condition even 
the natives of the forest are more or less dependent the 
one upon another. Man was never made to fight the 
battle of life single and alone. You are alone, to be 
sure, — you hunt the wilderness, — yet, you bear upon 
}our body the productions of others, who have thus con- 
tributed to your comfort and to your good appearance ; 
hence are we all dependent. 

Dumkins. Yes ; and I am quite as much dependent 
as I desire to be for the present. I love freedom, and 
claim to continue to be my own master. Hu-ra ! hu-ra 1 
for a becoming independence ! 

Matilda {interrupting). Whittaker, if he marries 
Mary, is to be even more than his own master. The 
generous, forgiving, loving, noble spirit of Mary would 



164 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

never, never have it otherwise. Heaven, in its economy, 
hath appointed man to the leadership of the household, 
and thereby hath exonerated woman from the savage, 
conflicting, perplexing, and burdensome labors of that 
out-door life with which man is encumbered. Indeed a 
wise Providence, as I trust, hath appointed Mary, one of 
the gentler sex, when married, to assist and encourage 
her lord of the homestead to great and good ends. In 
truth, Mary will never bring him a thorn, but always 
roses. 

Dumkins. But in all this there is no property. 
Poverty will never serve to boil a pot. 

Matilda. Very true. It is, however, true, that on a 
uniform good character, like Joseph's, with habits of 
industry like his, a lady may always rely. She, I opine, 
would prefer him without property. By her kind assist- 
ance, which she would delight to administer, the pot 
would boil, as a matter of course. 

Dumkins. This may do. But look, look at Josh 
Sloper's wife, after the honeymoon had run oute, the 
tarnal critter kicked over the traces and broke things. 
I tell ye, ye can't allays trust um. 

Matilda. Mary, as I trust, is endowed with the spirit 
of a true lady who, in the household, can never offer to 
her husband, whether he be right or wrong, any reproof. 
Hers would be the sphere of loyalty and love. 

Dumkins. True, I well know, it ; " molasses may 
catch more flies than vinegar." But in the case of Jo, 
there may be a preponderance of vinegar and an ava- 
lanche of it. 

Matilda. We often have been admonished that " a 
house divided against itself cannot stand." Mary in 



KING PHILIP. 165 

her loveliness would never lift her voice in disloyalty to 
her liege lord. She would crown him a king, who, 
thereby, would make herself a queen. 

Dumkins. What ! A queen, without anything to 
live on ? Ha! ha! ha! 

Matilda. Indeed, there would be a competence. 
That diligent labor which the great God designed 
should be constantly performed by both man and 
woman, will always bring to Joseph and Mary a compe- 
tence. It will bring them health; it will bring them 
happiness, and what more can they want or prefer ? 
God, in his economy, has imposed upon woman who 
does not labor, as well as upon man, a dread penalty, 
and that penalty is death prematurely. Hence, self- 
preservation ought to induce both labor and pleasure. 

Dumkins. Wahl, the women now-a-days don't take 
to labor. Some gals would ride all the time, and let 
their old fathers and mothers go afoot. I wouldn't 
marry one on um, no how. Some of um are heedless, 
shiftless, draggle-tailed spit-fires. Strange critters. 

Matilda. Indeed, I admit, such specimens of woman- 
hood are intolerable. 'T was so in the olden time. 
Solomon says, " It is better to dwell in the wilderness 
than with a contentious and an angry woman." But 
Mary is gentle, forgiving, kind, discreet. Through 
purest love she will adorn life's rugged pathway with 
flowers. There must be cares, yet true loveliness shall 
sustain the household, and such a union shall make 
home a habitation of comfort and a success. 

Dumkins. How is it known that Mary would have 
Jo? It takes two to make a bargain, and a woman 
when she will, she will, and when she won't, she won't. 



1 66 * BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

She '11 be . jist like old Josh Spencer's tumble-down 
Dick, — it 's the natur of her. She '11 every now and 
then get mad, kick up and break things. Old Josh 
said he held on, held on to her, trusting in God until the 
breeching broke ! and then, oh my Lord, Lordee, away 
went the dasher. \Enter Lightfoot.] But here comes 
Lightfoot. [Curtain. 

Scene II. — Near Bradley's Garrison in Haverhill. 

Lightfoot. Indians all about here. Me hear they 
will again burn houses in Haverhill. Indian will again 
break doors. Women kill um. It no go. Indians 
can't do it. Old women kill um. Old woman will 
shoot. 

Dumkins. You mean that the old mother at the 
garrison will shoot the Indians. 

Lightfoot. Indians mean to surround the garrison. 
Yeh, me hear women won't be taken. Shoot um. 
Shoot um dead. 

Dumkins. You mean that the Injuns are skulking 
about here, intending to burn houses, and to take more 
captives in Haverhill. 

Lightfoot. Yeh ! but they get more than they think 
for. They get killed. 

Dumkins. Yes ; but who 's in the Bradley garrison 
now 1 Who keeps it 1 

Lightfoot. Me believe Jo Whittaker be there ; Mary 
be there too. Jo make bricks in yard. Jo big worker, 
defends garrison. Jo love Mary much. 

Dumkins. Wahl, we 've got round to love matters 
agin. But here comes our friendly Peter ; out fresh 
from the Injuns, and just as good as they make um. 



KING PHILIP. 167 

{Enter Peter.1 How now, Peter? Peter, you have 
always been friendly to our side. Can you tell us any- 
thing ? 

Peter. The followers of Philip they are still mad. 
Mad at English ; seek blood. They murder white 
man ; burnt Lancaster, I heard. Brought away Mrs. 
Rowlandson. Me don't know much more. 

Dumkiiis. How many did they take captive ? and 
how many were murdered ? 

Peter. Me hear they murdered twenty. Me hear 
too they carry away from the garrison all the rest, 
twenty more. 

Dumkins. Where did the tribe carry Mrs. Rowland- 
son ? Who took her away ? \E72ter Indians, Watach- 
poo, and Quinnapin, and seat themselves. '\ 

Peter. Philip's men brought her away. Me thinks 
she in woods, somewhere near us now. They be near 
here, s'pose. \_Enter a wild Pidian. 

\_Now a shout from without., and an Indian is fiying 
hither and thither^ vociferatifig, "y^ fight ! a fight I'' 
Philip's warriors are moving ; all on the alert to bur?i 
Medfield. Up — away I War upon white man I War 
upon Medfield / " * The braves pass through and start ofil 
with guns and tomahawks in hand^ fierce for the fight 
they fly away.] {Dirge. 

Scene III. — On the river shore, at a wigwam i?i the 
forest, and Philip with Mary Rowlandson seated on oppo- 
site bank, and Pidians there with their packs and other 
equipage. Mrs. Rowlandson and Quinnapin, her master 
and his squaws 07i the river bank, also. 

* See Nason's Mass. Gazetteer, page 329. Feb. 21, 1675. 



1 68 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Qiiinnapi7i. Me now tell ye ; me go over river, me 
show ye Philip. 

Mrs. Rowlafidson. No ; sell me here to an English 
trader. You want powder and shot ; sell me for pow- 
der and shot. 

Qiiiniiapin. Me no want powder and shot ; me no 
sell ye ; ye good worker. Philip, chief, will be glad to 
see you. We go to see Philip. 

Mrs. Rowlandson. I can be of no use to you. Sell 
me, please, sell me. You may get many good things 
for me. 

Quinnapin. We no sell ; you do good work for 
us. Much help us. Philip is over river. \_Enter In- 
dians.'\ Here be the braves ; they '11 start the canoes 
all together. [^Tkey seize their paddles^ and away they 
start for the boats to cross the river.] [Curtain. 

Scene IV. — Same, River ^ and on the bank., are In- 
dians^ — some standings some resting^ and Philip at the 
door of his wigwatn. 

Quinnapin (to Philip). This be Squaw Rowlandson, 
of Lancaster — minister's wife. 

Philip. You be Squaw Rowlandson, minister's wife. 
(Passing a pipe.) Will ye smoke it ? 

Mrs. Rowlandson (with knitting-work). No, thanking 
you. Indian may smoke. It would not agree with me. 

Philip (Rowlandson on a mat, seating herself knitting- 
work in hand). Me see, you big worker. I will hire you 
to make shirt for me and for papoose. Make one, will 
ye ? 

Mrs. Rowlandson. Yes, I will try. I '11 make you a 
nice one. 

[Exit Philip and Quinnapin. Enter Mattikin. 



KING PHILIP. 169 

Mattikin {papoose in arms). Me want your apron, — 
piece of it for papoose to make him flap. 

Mrs. Rowlands on. No ; as you know, it would spoil 
my apron to cut it. 

Mattikin. Will ye give ? 

Mrs. Rowlandson. No. 

\Enter Weetamoo, Onux, and Peter. 

Mattikin. Me tear off piece of it then. 

Mrs. Rowlandson. Then I would tear your coat 
off. 

\Onux thereupon strikes at Rowlandson^ but, misdirect- 
ing the club, misses her. Mrs. Rowlandson escapifig, runs 
and throws off her apron, giving it to Mattikin, a?id the 
trouble ends.] 

IVeetamoo {to Rowlandson). Me want garment for 
papoose. Will ye make me one ? 

Mrs. Rowlandson. Yes, I '11 make it ; I '11 make ye 
a good one. 

Reter. Me want ye to knit me stockings. 

[Enter Lightfoot. 

Lightfoot {to Mrs. Rowlandson^ Me want a shirt ; 
will ye make one ? 

Mrs. Rowlandson. Yes, yes ; I '11 try to help ye 
all. But where is King Philip ? 

Lightfoot. King Philip be in wigwam yonder. 
Weetamoo. Take this {giving Rowlandson a piece of 
beoT meat) ; take this piece of meat, make me a shift, 
and I '11 give ye an apron. \Mrs. Rowlandson pockets 
the meat, and one after another they are seated with their 
travelling packs and equipage upon blankets and mats 
spread upon the ground?^ 

[Curtain. Music.] 



I/O BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Scene V. — A Kitchen. Present, Mosely and Dumkins. 

Mosely. So it is. Philip is still to be pursued. 
Last week many men of the Massachusetts, Plymouth, 
and Connecticut forces had been sent to Pettyswamp- 
scot ; thence they marched all night long (fourteen 
miles) to assail there in a swamp, King Philip's fortress. 
A snow storm of that terrible night imposed a deadly 
chill upon its horrors. 

Dumkins. Yes, I have heered so. Surrounded, they 
say, the island was by the swamp. And the encam|> 
ment was hedged about to a strong fortification. In- 
dade that castle had many a murtherer within it. 

Mosely. True it is, Philip is strong. And so strong 
was his fort, and so difficult the entrance to it, that our 
gallant captains Siely, Gallop, Marshall, Upham, John- 
son, and Davenport, fell dead at the onset. But at 
length, by means of re-enforcement, we prevailing, drove 
out and put the savages to flight. 

Dumki7is. Indade, ye did drive 'urn, but how many 
gallant hearts did ye lose ? 

Mosely. Then and there we lost many a brave fellow, 
but routed Philip and his tribes, who sought safety b3^ 
vacating their five hundred cells prior to their consump- 
tion in the conflagration. Yet, sad to say, Philip is yet 
to be active. His tribes are still to lurk, and, as we 
may fear, are for a long time to wander about unbridled 
in this wilderness. 

Dumkins. How many. Captain Mosely, did our 
English settlers lose ? 

Mosely. We lost ninety-one dead and wounded. 
Philip lost three hundred Narragansetts, and yet he es- 
caped. 



KING PHILIP. 171 

Du7nkins. You are a hero, Mosely. Truth tells it, 
that after the fatigue of that bloody battle, ye did march 
back that dread night, over the same ground, through 
the deep snows of the woods fourteen miles, bearing 
upon yr tired limbs your ninety men, dead and wounded. 
In war was there ever greater gallantry ? Indade to 
the souls of men was there ever a night more hideous ? 

Mosely. True, the fight was fearful, and that night 
was terrible ; yet Philip lives, and we must follow him 
to an extermination. \Exit. 

Dumkins. Wahl, reconnoitering Mosely has gone^ 
gone, perhaps far away. But to me it seemeth Philip is 
in the woods near to us. We hear of his depredations, 
his captures and his murders, all through the settlements 
around us. He cannot be far away. \Enter Light- 
foot.] Ah ! here comes Lightfoot. Lightfoot, tell us, 
if you know, what of Philip ? and what of his warriors ? 

\Re-enter Mosely. 

Lightfoot. Of Philip we know not. Philip's warriors, 
some of them, are near here. But ye need no fear 'um 
now, we guess. 

Mosely. That 's so ; the scouts have brought in the 
news that the Indians are in continual motion, — some 
towards Narragansett, some towards Wachusett, lying 
not over one night in a place, twenty-seven scouts are 
out. They have brought in two squaws, a boy and a 
girl. They bring an account of five slain. 

Lightfoot. Me heard, too, they brought in an old 
fellow, brother of a sachem, six squaws and their chil- 
dren. They killed, they say, five men, and wounded 
good, great many. \Enter One-Eyed John, Sagamore 
Sam, Watchenoit, and Peter, with tomahawks and 
sabre^ 



1/2 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Moscly. Eleven persons we had here in all ; two of 
them by council we put to death. 

Dumkins. Hu-ra ! hu-ra for our side ! The cursed 
critters are atter us everywhere. Yesterday the tribes 
were heered of all along through the Nip-muck country ; 
some on 'um were killing cattle, and they tore out their 
tongues; some were stealing horses and sheep, and 
some were murdering women and children. But our 
r^nglishmen are up to um, and Tom and One-eyed 
John and Sagamore Sam and Watchenoit are here, all 
turning in to help us. Hu-ra! hu-ra! And wc '11 fight 
it through. Up and let us away. 

Mosely. 

Dread war this is, and such in wrath make haste, 
To lay the white man's cot and village waste, 
That deals in daggers, poisoned, coated o'er, 
And the fagot torch, — that gluts on human gore. 
Out, then, my braves, let 's rally for the fight, 
Down on the foe, let gallant hearts unite ; 
Trust hearts and home to garrison of logs, 
Make brave the fight, by force of gun and dogs ; 
Urge forth yer squads, with weapons rude assail 
The foe ; fierce, fierce pursue the hidden trail. 

Move. \Allfly to arms and arc away. 

\_Ma7'tial music^ 
Sounds of musketry in the distance?\ 

Scene VI. — Present, Fhilip seated on mats at supper 
of a bowl of soup, attended with squaw and papoose. 

\Enter Mrs. Rowlandson. 
Philip, Ah, Lady Rowlandson ! Me shirt ; have ye 
made it ? 

Mrs, Rowlandson. Yes, King Philip, I have made 



KING PHILIP. 173 

ye a shirt, and have prepared one for your papoose. I 
have here, also, a shift for your maid, — all as you re- 
quested. Hope this will please you ! 

Philip {arising, receives them). Oh, they be nice ; I be 
much pleased. We have supper ; will you take some 
too? 

Mrs. Rowlandson. No, I thank you. King Philip; I 
am not in want of any. 

Philip {taking and extending to her a pancake) . Take 
this, it be good. We give ye this, and will give ye 
more. Thanks, thank ye much. \Hooti?tgs of the tribes, 
shouts and yells are heard in the dista7tce.'\ 

\Exit Philip. Curtain. 

[Clamorous successive repetitions without: ''^Houses 
burnt, many I^'' '''' Burnt Mcdfield ! Killed great many I '' 
*' Twenty — twenty / " " Murdered many ! twenty — twen- 
ty /" " Tomahawked um I " " Scalped um I " " Burnt 
um I " " Bur?it the town I "] 

Scene VII. — By the wigwam. Weetamoo, Quin- 
napin, Onux, and other Indians, and Mrs. Rowla7idson. 

Mrs. Rowlandson {listening). Oh, from where do 
they come ? 

Qiiinnapin. Me know ; me know. They be from 
Medfield. 

\_Quinnapin and squaws repeating vociferously in suc- 
cession, answering the outsiders : '•''Houses, burnt many.''^ 
" Burnt Medfield / " " Killed great many ! twenty — 
twenty / " " Murdered many I twenty — twenty I " 
'* T'omahawked um I " " Scalped him I " " Burnt um ! " 
'■'■Burnt the town T'' ^^ Hu-ra / hoop hu-raf' ^Tis 
now they enter, leaping in, as in a powo7V, they fall into a 



174 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

circle around Quinnapin, kiieclcd on a deer-skin^ and 
Watachpoo standing hand in hand beside him ; while ah 
in the ring, male a7td fe?nale, with their hands and sticks, 
are noisy with sing-song 7nutterings?\ 

Quinnapin. Braves, ye did fight much ; ye did fight 
well. Burnt big town ! Ye did kill many ! Death to 
white man ! 

All {at same time assenting). True talk ; true talk ; 
true talk. So be it. Watachpoo, go out of ring. 

\_He goes out. 

All {speaking at once). Watachpoo, come back again. 

\He hesitates. 

All {more earnestly) . Come, come back, Watachpoo ; 
come back, come back into the ring, 

[All repeating, breaking into a song^ and then they place 
a gim in his other hand^ 

Qtcinnapin. Ye all be great big warriors. 

All {speaking, striking down upon the ground, and mut- 
tering and humming various sounds, repeating same). 
That be so. 

Quinnapin. Me think ye heroes ; ye fight well. 

All {repeating, striking, etc., as before). That be so. 

Quinnapin. Me think ye too strong for palefaces. 

All {repeating or answering variously). That, that 
be so {striking and muttering as before). 

Watachpoo. Go out again {and he goes out). 

All {speaking variously). Come back again. 

\He hesitates. 

All {speaking). Come back again, me say. 

\He don't move. 

All {as one, with great vehemence). Come back, come 
back, Watachpoo. 



KING PHILIP. 175 

[He reeling, delaying, staggering with outstretched arms, 
and with gun in each hand, returns into the ring, at which 
all break out in rejoicing and song. Then they jump into 
a Ring and so seat themselves, Quinnapin, their chief, 
standing in the centre?^ 

Quinnapin. {Seizing Watachpoo by the hand, pulling 
him into the centre). Ye be brave warrior, Watachpoo ; 
ye did kill many ! ye did scalp um ! bravest of all ! Me 
must give ye 7iew name ; what shall the name of so big 
hero be? Bear, — yea, thou shalt be called a Brave 
Bear, — Bear. 

\The Ring, catching the name, and all rising, vociferate 
it continuously and va?'iously, " Bear, Big Bear, White 
Bear, Grisly Bear, Brave Bear I ^'' and hand iii hand, 
all singing it to the honor of the heroic Bear, dancing 
around him.'] 

Quinnapin {addressing the riftg) . Me take gun ; me 
take torch ; me take tomahawk ; me take scalping-knife. 
Me fight ! me fight ! all fight ! Kill palefaces ; burn 
um ; burn um wigwams ; burn um all ! burn um all ! 

All {afiswering vociferously). We will ! we will ! 
[Aftd giving the war-whoop cry, " Woach I woach ! ha I 
ha ! ha I woach ! " Quinnapin flies ; all having seized their 
various weapons folloiv him, save Weetamoo and Onux 
and Mrs. Rowlandson, who drop down seated upon a 
deer skin. Enter Philip, and they ifistantly rise, and the 
squaws again seat thefnselves^ [Curtain. 

Scene VIII. — Same. 

Philip {to Mrs. Rowlandson). What '11 ye give me to 
tell ye good news ? Me could speak a good word for 
ye. 



1/6 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Mrs. Rowlandson. Oh, what is the good news, King 
Philip ? What may I understand it to be ? 

Fhilip. A white chief has come for ye ; wants that 
ye may go home to-morrow ? What '11 ye give me to 
help ye to be given up ; to help in giving ye freedom ? 

M7'S. Rowlandson. Can't tell, King Philip, what I 
can give ye. I will give you anything which I have. 
What 7nust I give you, King Philip ? Try ; please do 
favor me. I 've tried to help you. Have knit your 
stockings, have done many things in this wilderness for 
braves and for squaws, have made shirts for 3^e pa- 
poose. 

Fhilip. Wahl ! Me like to have two coats, twenty 
shillings in money, half bushel seed corn, and some 
tobacco. 

Mrs. Rowlandson. Thank you ! thank you, King 
Philip for this offer, and for all kindnesses. 

\Exit Philip. Enter Quinnapin, intoxicated. 

Qtihinapin. Squaw Rowlandson, me tell ye (hick), 
white man, friendly come, wants you (hick), brings 
gifts, will try to buy ye ; wants me to let ye (hick) go 
home ; me (hick) don't want to. 

Mrs. Rowlandson. Oh, Master Quinnapin, do, do let 
me go home with him ! 

Qiiinnapin {staggering). Yr paleface — (hick) come 
for ye ! He big rogue. Hang him ! (hick) har rogue ! 
Hang him (hick) he be rogue ! But General Court 
(hick) will (hick) decide. 

Weetamoo (rising, addressing Quinnapin). My brave, 
ye been drinking ; ye no right ; not right ; ye be drunk. 

Quinnapin. Drunk .? (a hick — turning to strike her; 
she escapes, he pursuing her out of sight?) 



KING PHILIP. 177 

[Enter Tom, Peter, James, and Petuckson as a 
Court seated^ and Vagy. from the Colony. ~\ 

Peter (rising, to Page). Me now tell ye, we as court 
would say, Squaw Rowlandson worth much ; she do 
much good work. Philip gone, is not here. But if ye 
leave with us for him and Master Quinnapin ;£'2o, she 
may go free. 

Page, Here then, take the ^20 {delivering the ransom 
money to Pawtuckson). 

Mrs. Rowlands 071. Oh, then, I am free ; I am to go 
(shakifig hands). Good by, Weetamoo; good by, 
Onux; good by, all. 

Weetamoo (Jo Mrs. P ow lands ojt). Hope you will send 
rne some gift. 

Onux (to same). Me hope you will send me red 
apron. 

Peter. And me hope you will send me " occapeches;*'* 
and me want tobacco, — send me much. 

Mrs. Rowlandson. Yes, yes. I '11 remember you all. 
Good-by ! 

Page (raising his hand, as if to dismiss them). Good- 
by ! Come, my Lady Rowlandson, let us away ; let us 
away. [Exeunt. Music. 

[Curtain.] 

* Rum. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. — A Woodland. 

Dutnkins {alone, beckoning to a traveller). Hallo ! my 
friendly fellow. Halloo ! This way, Lightfoot, this way. 

Lightfoot {approaching in the distaiice). Ah ! ha ! 
What you want ? 

DumkiJis. I want to know — 

Lightfoot. Know what ? 

Diimkins. Who you are ; what your business is ; 
where you are going to, and what you are after looking 
for. Indade, tell me if ye are looking after anyone in 
particular. 

Lightfoot. Me be Lightfoot — hunting Philip. Philip 
in swamp, somewhere near Mt. Hope. Much English 
in woods. Church, Seaconet. — Big company, part 
white men, part Indians. All be hunting, mad, going 
for King Philip. Weetamoo, squaw sachem, be dead, 
— drowned in the fight. English hung her head upon 
a pole. 

Dumkins {seating himself). I am lost. Now I 'd like 

to know where this is. Wandering, bewildered all day ; 

turning this way, that way, and t'other way, yet have 

kept aloof from the trail of savages ; in tangled thicket, 

170 



KING PHILIP. 179 

mud, and mire ; against ragged cliffs, and torn of briers 
and tliorns. In these bewilderings, made bare to tlie 
brambles, this flesh of mine suffers, and my manhood 
is much muddled up. \Enter Lightfoot.] No fowl in 
the thicket, no beast, and no game. {Thunders^ Hun- 
gry — hungry as a box at a contribution. But {looking 
roimd) whence this darkness ? Hark ! does it thunder ? 

Lightfoot {kneeling). Yea ! 't is Great Spirit speaking 
in high-up mountain. 'T is ominous ! a sign of big 
tempest. Me hear Him in cloud (Jiolding up both 
hands). \Guns exploding without?!^ 

Dumkins. Dreadful are the lightnings. But whence 
those pop-guns ? Ah ! Philip is without. His foes 
they'll still pursue him to the death. Mayhap, that last 
gun hath slain him. Alas, this night is fearful ! \Loud 
muttering thunders^ and the rattling of hail.'] [Exit. 

Scene H. — A garrison. Present Whittaker and Mary. 

Whittaker. Mary, my dear, will you take a seat by 
my side {poifiting to the seat beseechingly^ yet Mary hesi- 
tates). 

Mary. Why do you desire me so near you, Joseph ? 
[f you have aught to say, I may be heard quite as well 
from where I now am. Yet I will come near to thee 
{seating herself). 

Joseph. Now, Mary, why did you seem reluctant? 
Are you unfriendly, Mary ? Do you not respect me ? 

Mary. Yes, Joseph. But in the midst of our many 
Indian dangers, troubles, and murders I can't seem to 
love anybody. 

Joseph. Fie, Mary, do not talk thus. These conflicts 
at arms will soon come to an end, and then you and I 



l80 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

might live together in love. Might this not be ? What 
say you, Mary ? 

Mary. Oh, Joe, don't talk that nonsense. The wars 
will last my lifetime. As for me, I cannot promise to 
myself, in this life, any home other than a garrison. 

Joseph. You mistake, Mary ; you are despondent. 
Our English settlers will soon conquer a peace, and 
then everything around us will be pleasant, and life will 
be peaceful. 

Mary. I can see no prospect of peace. Only think 
of the past, and you may make favorable calculations 
for the future. Hannah Bradley, as you know, has 
been twice carried from us into captivity, and once, in 
Canada, has been sold as a slave. No, Joseph, no 
prospect of peace or of safety can I foresee outside of 
a garrison, or inside of it even, for a long, long time to 
come. {Exit Mary. Enter Dumkins. 

Dumkins. Wahl, there's news in these woods ; mighty 
big news. 

Joseph. What do ye hear. 

Dumkins. Hear ? I 'm told that a part of Haverhill 
is consumed, and that Mother Duston, Mary Neff, and 
the boy Leonardson and twenty-five others are taken 
away into captivity. This, Jo, as I suppose, you have 
heard of, and know about it. But how is that love 
matter, Jo ? are you and Mary going to make a match 
of it ? (^Joseph appears abashed^ Never mind, Jo ; never 
mind, Jo. [Re-enter Mary.] Here comes Mary, and I '11 
skedaddle. \_Exit. 

Joseph. W^ell, what is the word, Mary ? 

Mary. The word is war, Joseph, and but little else. 
Our lives are never safe, even in a fortress. 



KING PHILIP. l8l 

Joseph. Be assured, Mary, we shall soon emerge 
from these dangers, and I anticipate the peaceful day 
when you and I may be one ; when we may dwell 
together in a lovely cot or a cheerful cabin, made up 
for you and for me. 

Mary (interrupting). Oh Lorde, Lord-de, Jo ! I can 
never think of any such alliance. What, to be married 
in a garrison-house, among the Indians ; in the midst 
of murders ! Oh no, no, Jo. 'T is vain to think of it. 
I should swoon away. 

Joseph. Mary, my dearest, do not decide rashly; 
deny me not. Let us wait a little. But say, oh, say 
that thou wilt be mine. 

Mary. Oh no, Jo ; I can 't, I can not ! 

Joseph. Save me, Mary, oh save me ! Say 7^2/ will 
marry me. 

Mary (interrupting). It's no use, Jo, I can't. I 
never will. 

Joseph. Why, you shall have my hand in true faith, 
Mary ; you shall have my whole heart. (Distant thun- 
der mutters?) 

Mary. Heart, or no heart, I won't (shaking her 
head). I shall never be your wife, Jo. 

Joseph (abruptly). Then I'll drown myself. I'll 
jump into the well. (If e leaps away, a7id over the well- 
curb he goes, and splash sounds the wafer, as if a log fell 
into it. Mary shrieks.) Oh Lorde, Lordee, Jo's gone 
down ! Jo's dead ! Jo's dead ! 

[Curtain. A brief dirge?[ 



1 82 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 



Scene III. — The well near the garrison^ and Mary 
wailing around it. 

Mary {in agony vociferatifig) . Oh Joseph, Joseph ! 
are you dead? Oh, I shall die also ! Are you dead ? 
oh, are you dead ? Speak, speak to me ; do, Joseph, do, 
if you are alive, speak to me ! I will have ye, Jo. 
I will marry you ! Oh, I will be thine ! 

\_Thunders. 

Joseph {I?i another direction, crawling out from a hid- 
ing-place^ embracing her), I am alive, Mary. I am 
thine, and thou art mine. 

\Curtai?i slow falling. Music^ 

Scene IV. — A wigwam on the Islaftd of Wonalancet. 
Present Dumkins. 

\_Enter Ifidians, one after another, dripping wet, with 
captives, — Mrs. Kimball of Bradford, and her children, 
crying, — Indians vociferating, '■''Wet, wet. me wet I cap- 
tives wet, much noisy, much trouble ! Kill um ! burn 
um/'^ They pass along out,Jethro remaining?^ 

Old Jethro. How now, Dumkins? Me seen tribe 
with captives, — mother and children. She be white 
squaw and papooses, from Bradford. 

Dumkijis. Which way did the curses go ? Are they 
near us ? 

Old Jethro. Yea, they be near, — angry, angry. They 
be bad captives, — bad. {Enter Wonalancet.] Oh, 
here be the chief. Ye be good chief, friend to English, 
not cruel. Heart noble, — big heart, generous. 

Dumkins. Yes, our good old chief, Wonalancet, is 
a friend in a friendly forest; a true son of. Passacono- 



KING PHILIP. 183 

way. He is the native peacemaker, whatever be his ori- 
gin, name, or color. I am glad to greet him {seizing him 
by the hand). Thou art a man after my own heart. Thou 
art a hunter of the forest, and so am I. Health and long 
life to Wonalancet. 

Wonalancet. Me wish same good to white man. 
Same good to you, same good to all. \Enter Major 
Waldron.] Ah, 'tis Major, 'tis white chief. Me glad 
to see Major. Me want much favor. You be good to 
my tribes. 

Waldron. Wonalancet, let me say, I am here to ask 
a kindness of you. You are chief of the Penacooks. 
You know that Philip's men have been doing much 
wrong, — have murdered many of our English settlers, 
and have been carrying them into captivity, and are 
burning down houses and villages. Of late, as you 
know, they have murdered Thomas Kimball, of Brad- 
ford ; and have seized and taken Mrs. Kimball and her 
five children, and are wickedly holding them in captivity, 
afflicting them. Now, as it is within your province, I 
pray you to cause her, with her children, to be released, 
and allowed to go free. Send her home to me, at Co- 
checo. 

Wonalancet. Me will try. Me be friend to white 
chief. Me friend to good white man. Me try, Major. 
Me try to see um. Me try to do it. \Exit. 

Wald7'on (to Dumkins). Ah, my old friend, the hun- 
ter! my dear Dodifer Dumkins. Where are the Indian 
warriors ? have they been seen of late ? 

Dumkins. They are somewhere not far from our 
garrison. A storm drove um into our shed, but, being 
discovered, lliey beat off again. Yet I am thinking 



184 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

they are holding their captives somewhere in these 
woods, near us. 'Tis true, as they say, the Devil is 
always nearest when talked about. I crossed their trail 
yesterday, while on my hunt, and they have come nearer 
since. They had several captives besides Mrs, Kimball 
and her children. 

Waldron. I trust, then, Wonalancet will soon be 
able to find them. These are troublesome times. 
Philip must be hunted out. \Enter Lightfoot.] Ah, 
ha, Lightfoot ! what news ? 

Lightfoot. Me hear King Philip be dead ; shot him 
in swamp, with English gun. Alderman-be big warrior ; 
big warrior. He killed King Philip. 

Waldron. But where do you hear all this ? 

Lightfoot. White man tell me. He was from Boston. 
He know. Philip be dead. White man be glad. 
Friendly braves will rejoice in a pow-wow. 

Waldro7i. News like this animates us. Indeed, how 
glorious ! It foreshadows the salvation of New Eng- 
land. Settlers everywhere may now thank God and take 
courage. 

Dumkins {raising both hands). Hurrah for the white 
man ! Victory ! hurrah ! hurrah ! King Philip's dead, 
deader, deadest. A savage shot him ; Church beheaded 
him ! They quartered him. His scarred hand they 've 
sent to Boston ; his head to Plymouth, poised upon a 
gibbet. Now, Major Waldron, there's a good time for 
your great training. A time for the catching and hang- 
ing all the rest of the critters as high as the heavens. 

Waldron. Yes, we have a stratagem. We propose 
a great training at Cocheco, to be made up of the tribes 
and of our English settlers, in which there is to be a 



KING PHILIP. 185 

sham-fight, and in which the Indians are to be decoyed, 
and all the Indian warriors made prisoners, and exe- 
cuted or sold into slavery. But this is not to be pub- 
lished. 

Dumkins {elated). Good, good ! I go in for the 
sham-fight, and for the heads of all on um, rag, shag, 
and bobtail, without reservation or mercy. \Curtam. 

Scene V. — A woodland. Present^ Lightfoot and 
Dumkins. 

Dumkins. That affair at Haverhill — the killing of 
our English settlers there, the burning down of houses, 
and the bringing into captivity our old Mother Duston 
— was terrible, terrible. Yet my word for it, if that old 
woman gets a chance, depend on 't, she '11 be a customer 
for 'em. 

Lightfoot. Why did n't Englishmen shoot ? Why 
they no shoot 'em ? When they kill the child, and burn 
houses, why they no shoot 'em all ? 

Dumkiits. 'T was done secretly ; Englishmen not 
ready ; none of 'em there. 'T was on the outside of 
the town. The scamps assailed it in squads, burned 
dwelling-houses nine, captives carried away thirteen, 
and killed twenty-seven. But old Mother Duston is a 
hard brick for um ; a hard nut, they '11 find her to be, 
I '11 promise ye. She '11 remember her dead baby ; and 
^if a chance happens, she '11 make game of um. 

Lightfoot. Hark ! Me hear 'em ! They be near us, 
sure as I be Lightfoot. Yea, as sure as you be Dodi- 
pher Dumkins, them Injuns be here in woods, near us. 
Hark {putting hand to his ear) ! on this island me hear 
'em {reclining and laying his ear to the ground, and then 



1 86 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

is heaj'd the crackling of leaves and dry hvigs). Faith, it 
be Injuns with Mother Duston. Mother Duston and 
Injuns. 

Dumkins. That 's so, Lightfoot. Hark ! Yes, faith, 
it is so (^putting his ear to the ground also). 
\Curtain?\ 

Scene VI. — Duston Island and Wigwams^ and ten 
I?idians all lying at length asleep^ and Duston, Neff, and 
Leonardson, with tomahawks uplifted, i?i the act of killing 
them, represented in tableau. 

Dumkins.^ 

Down on their guilty heads three times they strike, 
And three times three death follows each alike. 
No groan is heard, nor tragic sign of woe, 
But cold and stiff there lies the bloody foe, 
'Neath clouds of night. 

\Music. 
[A great noise by the tribes without and a loud cry : 
^^Kimball, it was me did kill old man; me now kill him 
squaw too ; we kill ''em all.^'^ 

Scene VII. — Woods of Wamesit. A torch is blazifig 
in the hand of a savage. Mrs. KimbalVs master and two 
Iitdian assistants are 77iadly proceeding to bind with cords 
Mrs. Kimball and children, to be placed upo?t a pile of 
faggots, the larger children being troublesome. 

Old Jethro (her master, to M?'s. Kimball). You bring 
no money ; you make trouble. You noisy old squaw, 
me mean to kill ye ; bind ye up ; me burn ye all. 

\_Eftter WONALANCET. 

Wonalaficet. Hold ! hold ! Me be friend to woman. 
What hath she done ? 



i%-^ 




HANNAH DUSTOX AT THE MASSACRE. 



KING PHILIP. 187 

Oldjethro. Done ? She no good. Bring no money. 
Cries much, noisy. Make me much loss, much angry. 
So me kill her, me burn um {starting forward to his 
work of blood). 

Wonalancet, Tyrant ! tyrant ! Ye shall no harm 
the woman. Stop there, stop ! Desist or die {turn- 
ing upon him, Jethro makes a blow at him with a war- 
club ! Waiialancet seizes hold of it — a squabble and fight 
ensue). 

Wofialancet. Death ! death ! {and raising a war cry : 
" Woach ! woach ! ha ! ha I woach /" Upon which four 
.Indians with knives leap from the bush, and the leader, 
Numphow, ^ hits Old Jethro, and he goes tumbling 
wounded. His assistants escape, and Wonalancefs men 
pursuing them out of sight.) 

[Curtain.l 

Scene VIII. — Same. Wonalancet, cords in hand, 
with Mrs. Kimball and her children, untied and free. 

Mrs. Kimball. Thanks, Wonalancet, ten thousand 
thanks to thy noble, generous heart; that thou hast 
spared the lives of these, my dear infants; these, my 
helpless, fatherless little ones. For all this, my broken 
heart, and the sainted spirit of my dear husband, and my 
children's faithful, murdered father, now looking down 
from yonder skies, can but love and bless thee forever. 
Now that my guardian and leader has been slain ; now 
that I am in the wilderness with these, my five little ones, 
where, oh where, shall I go ? Where, Wonalancet, 
shall I find a home of rest ? Am I to remain in this 
dread, dread dreariness of war and blood } Am I here, 
* Numphow was Ruler of the peaceful Indians at Wamesit. 



1 88 PATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

here to perish ? Oh tell me, dear Wonalancet, tell me, 
where shall these, my fatherless infants, find a friend ; 
another friend like thee ? 

Wo7iala7icet. Me tell ye, there be garrison at Co- 
checo, ten leagues away. Major Waldron keeps it. 
He be your friend. Major protect you. Major want 
you. White man will save you. 

Mrs. Kimball. But my dear Wonalancet, how can I 
carry these children, and how shall I thither find the 
way ? \Enter Patuckson, Numphow, Watchenoit, 
and Watachpoo.] 

Wonalancet. Fear not. have no fear. Patuckson 
know the way. He shall lead, and Watchenoit, Num- 
phow, and Watachpoo shall help to carry yr papooses. 
Here Patuckson, here Numphow, Watchenoit, and 
Watachpoo {bcckonmg them), come here ! These cap- 
tives all be free. Now take 'em, lead 'em through woods 
(j>ointmg) this way, then lead um {pomting) that way to 
Major Waldron's garrison, Cocheco. Tell him that 
Wonalancet send um. Tell him, me Major's friend. 
Tell him, Wonalancet white man's friend. 

All {answering). Ye ha ! Ye ha ! (^and each one 
seizing an infant, throwing it over his shoulder pig-back, 
leaving the eldest to be led by Mrs. Kimball, they take their 
departure?) 

Wonala?icet {waving his hand). Adieu ! Adieu ! 

Mrs. Kimball. Adieu ! My dear, dear friend ! {and 
suddenly returning back embraces him.) 

[^Curtain slow falling. 



KING PHILIP. 189 

Scene IX. — Governor's Headquarters. 

Leverett {alone in meditation). Well, how is this ? 
Time, as in its arrowy flight it advances, wonderful 
things, more and more tragical, more and more terrible, 
are falling upon us. Bradford, and Lancaster, and Co- 
checo are not alone fated. Indian invasions, confla- 
grations, and murders are quite as keenly realized in 
other places. Haverhill is still in mourning for its loss 
of life. \Exit. Enter Dumkins. 

Dumkitis. That 's so, Governor, but depend upon it, 
't will not be long before the tables will be turned on 
um. There 's heroism, there 's true metal in those two 
old Hannahs whom, many days ago, they carried off 
from Haverhill. The savages will find genuine jingle 
in um. If the fathers had spunk, half so much as those 
old English mothers, why they 'd drive these infernal 
red-skin murderers into the sea — horse, foot, and dra- 
goons all into an uproar, piled up. 

[Enter Lightfoot and Peter. 

Lightfoot. Mother Duston, — the tribe that did take 
her, and did kill her papoose, did divide apart up river, 
so squaw tell me. Hannah Bradley be carried up to 
Canada. Mother Duston and tribe, they be away yon- 
der, on Island Contoocook. 

Peter. That be not all true. No, not true, — guess 
Hannah Bradley be not up there now. Got away from 
Injuns. Got home. She be in garrison here. Injuns 
be trying to get her agin. {India7is from without coming 
in, clamorously i?iquiring.) 

All (variously). Where be squaw Bradley ? Where 
be Hannah Bradley ? 



IQO BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Peter. Old Hannah is safe. Get you gone. Can't 
have her. She '11 fight ye. She be in garrison. Safe, — 
no have her. Injun, no have her agin. Me think you 
no have her at all. 

[All vociferously raisi?ig the war-whoops afid rushing 
to the garriso7i wherein Mrs. Bradley^ Whittaker^ and 
others are concealed, repeatiitg as follows : " Woach I 
woach I ha I ha l ha! O woach .■'" All yelling, pound- 
ing and trying to stave in the door."] 

Hannah Bradley {extending her head from the win- 
dow^. Begone, ye murderous hell-hounds, begone ! 
Never, never shall ye capture me again. Get out ! be- 
gone ! {Bistantly she lets blaze a blu?tderbuss from the 
window; and Bampico, the Indiaft leader, falling dead, 
the Bidians take flight ; bearing away the dead man ; old 
Hannah at the same time giving them another blast from 
her blunderbuss^ 

[Curtain slow falling^ 




GIANT OF VliE WOODS. 



Drama No. 4. . . . Battle of the Bush.— The Regicides. 



REGICIDES. 

(N. E.) 



Sit l^istorical ©rama. 

[years 1640 TO 1676.] 



By ROBERT B. CAVERLY, 

Poet and Historian. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



William Goffe 

Edward Whalley, [ Regicides. 

John Dixwell, 

Sir Geo. Ayscue 



Officer of the 
Crown. 
Ch. Judge. 



Jo Bradshawe 

Michael McPherson, A Catholic. 

Dr. Drug. . . . A Churchman. 

King Charles I. 

The Duke of York. 

The Princess Elizabeth. 

Aunt Margery, ) ^ _ Dissenters. 

Jennie Geddes, ) 

KiANEMO .... The Betrothed, 



Oliver Cromwell, The Protector. 
Messengers, 1st and 2d. 

NiMKOD An Irishman. 

The King's Constable. 
Mrs. Fleetwood, ) Daughters of 
Mrs. Claypole, . \ Cromwell. 
Richard . . . Son of Cromwell. 

JoiCE A Captain. 

Naylor A Quaker. 

Harrison, \ 

Peters, > ... Republicans. 

Jones, ) 

Leonora . . The Squaw Sachem. 

Sagamore Sam. 



ATTENDANTS. 

Heroic Villagers of Hadley; Old Israel, Tom, Noah, Nathan, and 
Deacon Drown; a member of Parliament; a member of a Court; Mrs. 
Whitterwinkle, White, and Lesley. 



BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY B. B. RUSSELL. 
1886. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Charles I. — his Tragic Conflicts 197 

Factions in the Reahii ; Religious Frenzies 204-241 

Oliver Cromwell at the Head of the Army 202 

Kmg Charles I. tried by 70 Judges; Beheaded 207-214 

Jennie Geddes, Spunk of ; Trouble in the Church 206 

The Queen Unfaithful ; Grief of the Duke and Princess . . . .211-214 
Parliament, Long, dissolved by Cromwell ; " Seeking the Lord " . . 215 
Death of Cromwell ; Richard the Son, and Daughters .... 218-221 

Naylor, a Quaker Intruder 220 

Richard — his Reign momentary 222 

Charles II. crowned King 225-227 

The Regicides beheaded ; some of them escape 22S-241 

Goffe, Whalley, and Dixwell, escaping, arrive in New England . 229-243 

Dr. Drug — his Patients, Prescriptions, and Skill 222-225 

A Ship lands, bringing the King's Constables 229 

They seek the Regicides in Vain, they escape 229-232 

Kianemo seeks the Hand of Leonora, Squaw Sachem of Wacluisett, 231 

Trial of Kianemo for Murder, and his Escape 232 

Goffe, at Hadley, leads in the Fight, driving the Tribes .... 235-236 

Villagers, and their Account of that Conflict 237 

Regicides at Leonora's Tent, secreted, and by her protected . . 239-241 
Kianemo, by Leonora, commanded to kill the King's Constable . . 242 

King's Constable misled, bewildered . .242-244 

Pursued by Kianemo, crippled, he falters 245 

He falls at Leonora's Tent, slain by Kianemo 246 

Lovewell, Paugus, and their Conflicts 193 

Copyright, 1SS5, by the Author. All Rights Reserved. 



BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 



LOVEWELL, PAUGUS, AND THE REGICIDES. 

LEGENDARY. 

No incidental conflicts in New England's primeval 
history were more heroic and heart-moving, than those 
of Captain John Lovewell against the Indians under 
Paugus. Lovewell, at the first, in 1724, had raised a 
company of thirty volunteers, and advancing north of 
Lake Winnipiseogee, found an Indian and a boy in a 
wigwam, killed the Indian, and, bringing the boy to 
Boston, received a bounty for the exploit, as well as a 
gratuity from the colonies. 

Afterwards, with seventy men, he again invaded the 
forest above the lake ; but thirty of his men, for the 
want of provisions, faltered and turned back; but the 
others advanced, and discovering a tribe which had en- 
camped for the night, they concealed themselves, and 
at midnight rose and fell in upon them, at the side of a 
pond. Lovewell fired first, and killed two. Five others 
lired, and then all the others, and then by this all the 
Indians but one were slain. He, being wounded, and 
trying to escape, was followed by a dog, and was held 
until he also was killed. This was at Lovewell's Pond, 

193 



194 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

in Wakefield, N. H., at the head of one of the branches 
of the Salmon Fall River. 

Belknap, the historian, says : " This brave company, 
on February 24, 1625, with the ten scalps stretched on 
hoops, and elevated on poles, entered Dover (Cocheco) 
in triumph, and, proceeding to Boston, received the 
bounty of one hundred pounds for each, out of the pub- 
lic treasury." 

And again, on the sixteenth of April of that year, 
Lovewell, raising another company, numbering forty-six 
men, including a surgeon and a chaplain, he again ad- 
vanced into the forests of the northeast as before. Two 
of the men becoming lame, and one falling sick, were 
left behind with the surgeon, in a stockade fort on the 
west side of the great Ossipee Pond ; together with eight 
men, who were also left there as a guard. The remain- 
ing thirty-four men, led by Lovewell, advanced onward 
about twenty-two miles, and encamped on the shore of 
a pond. In the morning, while at their devotions, they, 
hearing the report of a gun, discovered an Indian on a 
point of land extending into the pond, nearly a mile 
away. Thereupon they marched off in the direction of 
the Indian, first disencumbering themselves of their 
knapsacks, leaving them there on the northeast end of 
the pond, without a guard. 

It appeared that Lovewell's march had crossed a 
carrying-place, wherein Paugus and Wahwa, with forty- 
one warriors from Saco River, were about returning to 
the lower village of Pequaket, it being distant about a 
mile and a half from this pond. 

Discovering the track of Lovewell, they traced it 
back to the packs, counting them, and ascertaining the 



LOVEWELL, PAUGUS, AND THE REGICIDES. 1 95 

number of the enemy to be less than their own tribe, 
they placed themselves in ambush, and awaited Love- 
well's return. 

Lovewell, while away, again discovering the Indian 
from the point of land, fired at him ; but, missing him, 
he returned their fire with small shot, wounding the 
Captain and one of his men. But Lieutenant Wyman, 
firing again, killed the Indian, and took his scalp. 

They then returning for their packs, the Indians arose 
and assailed them with firelocks, and yells terrific. 
Captain Lovewell was killed at the onset. Lieutenant 
Farwell and two others were wounded. Several of the 
Indians fell ; but, seeing their superiority of numbers, 
Lovewell's men took positions behind rocks and trees. 
On their right was the mouth of a brook, on their left 
a rocky point. Their front was covered partly by a 
deep bog, with the pond in their rear ; and there they 
continued the fight for a long time. 

Jonathan Frye, Ensign Robbins, and one other were 
mortally wounded ; yet they continued the conflict up to 
near the night, when the Indians left the ground, car- 
rying away their killed and wounded, and leaving the 
dead bodies of Lovewell and others unscalped. 

Of the remnant of this brave force of settlers, three 
were unable to leave the spot, eleven others were 
wounded, but able to march, and nine only had re- 
ceived no injury. It was sad to leave their three 
wounded companions in the wilderness, but the fates 
had so ordered it. One of them. Ensign Robbins, 
directed that his gun should be left at his side charged, 
so that if the enemy returned, he might kill one more 
of them. 



196 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

This was on the 8th of May, at night. When they 
left the ground, the moon had cast its light upon the 
fatal spot, and had begun to light their way through 
the wilderness towards the fort where their comrades, 
the surgeon, and guard had been left. And it appears 
Robbins, Lieutenant Farwell, and the Chaplain, thus 
perished in the woods, while the survivors, after suffer- 
ing the most severe hardships, wandered back, arriving 
one after another into the lonely fort. Fourteen only 
of Lovewell's forty-six men lived to find their way back 
to their cots or cabins in old Dunstable. 

A generous provision was made for the widows and 
children of the slain. Lands by the Commonwealth 
were given to the survivors, one tract now takes the 
name of Pembroke, N. H. 

Soon after this battle Colonel Tyng, of Dunstable, 
visited that battle-ground, buried the bodies of twelve 
of the company, carved their names upon the trees 
there, and then left them alone again, in the dark, deep 
forest, to a peaceful, quiet repose. A considerable 
time after this dread conflict, wherein both Paugus and 
Lovewell fell, a temporary treaty was negotiated under 
Governor Dummer's administration, with the Norridge- 
wocks, Penobscots, St. Johns, and Cape Sable Indians. 
This treaty was ratified Aug. 5, 1726. Anon, for a 
while, there are better days, — 

And peace, —that welcome harbinger of health, 
Of generous thrift, foreshadowing weal and wealth, — 
Brings her glad-tidings down, and cheers the land 
With prompt good will, and noble deeds at hand; 
To heal the broken heart, to make amends, 
For wilful waste that from the past descends. 




MAID AT THE WHEEL. 



LOVEWELL, PAUGUS, AND THE REGICIDES. IQ/ 

Thence this fair vale from mountain to the main, 
In vernal grandeur buds to bloom again ; 
And plenteous harvest with her golden ears, 
Crowning the prudence of progressive years, 
Adorns the field, and grace triumphant gives 
To honest toil. . . . 

LEGEND NO. 4. 

\The King, Cromwell, and their Conflicts. A true 
story of the royal fugitives, — William Goffe, Edmund 
Whalley, and John Dixwell.'] 

In the following Drama we have noted the English- 
men above named, and have extended particularly some 
of the dread events which happened at their hands and 
against them both in England and America. 

They had been known as Regicides, who, among 
others, one hundred in all, acting in the capacity of 
judges, had beheaded King Charles I., under the 
leadership of Oliver Cromwell. And when the British 
government had again changed, Oliver Cromwell being 
dead, and Charles II. being crowned King, these men, 
then being pursued as murderers of his father, escaped 
from England, and arrived at Boston in July, 1660. 
They were regarded as gentlemen of worth, were of 
dignified manners and appearance, were esteemed of 
the Colonists, and were pious, commanding much re- 
spect. Whalley had been a lieutenant-general under 
Cromwell, and Goffe a major-general in the same army. 
An order from King Charles II. for their apprehension 
reached New England soon after their arrival here ; 
and to avoid the King's Commissioners, then eager to 
execute this order, these Judges hastily resorted to the 
woods and to the caves of the earth for concealment. 



198 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Several of their associate judges had already been 
caught by the king's constables and executed in Eng- 
land ; yet the Colonists had a care and a disposition to 
favor these fugitives who had sought an asylum on 
these shores. At one time they occupied a cave on 
West Rock, about two miles from New Haven ; at an- 
other, they dwelt secreted under a bridge, while their 
pursuers crossed it on horseback ; at other times they 
found refuge in rude cellars and garrets, and although 
much troubled, fortune usually turned in their favor. 

At length, after a concealment of about three years 
and a half at New Haven and its vicinity, they, on Oct. 
13, 1664, left there for Hadley, Massachusetts, one 
hundred miles distant, travelled by night, and took up 
their abode there at the house of John Russell, a 
friendly clergyman of that village. The house was well 
suited to the reception and secretion of the judges. 
"The east chamber was assigned for their residence, 
from which a door opened into a closet back of the 
chimney, and a secret trap-door communicated with an 
under closet, from which was a private passage to the 
cellar, into which it was easy to descend in case of a 
search." 

" Here, unknown to the people of Hadley, excepting 
to a few confidants and the family of Mr. Russell, the 
Judges remained fifteen or sixteen years. These Judges 
were confidentially known at the time by a Mr. Smith, 
who also admitted them occasionally to his house in 
Hadley. They were also favored by a Mr. Tilton, then 
often in Boston as a member of the General Court from 
Hadley," through whom donations from their friends in 
England and elsewhere were, from time to time, re- 



LOVEWELL, PAUGUS, AND THE REGICIDES. IQQ 

ceived by the Judges. During his residence in Hadley, 
Goft'e held a correspondence with his wife in England 
under a fictitious name. By one of the letters, dated 
April 2, 1679, it appears Whalley had died at Mr. Rus- 
sell's residence some time previously. He was buried 
in a small tomb of mason work, just without the cellar- 
wall of the Russell house. Much later, in 1794, the 
bones of this Regicide were found there by a Mr. 
Gaylord, who erected a house on the same premises. 
Soon after the decease of Whalley, Goffe, as appears, 
left Hadley and journeyed to the south. Afterwards 
no certain news was heard of him. " Not long after 
the arrival of these two Regicides at Hadley, Colonel 
John Dixwell, another of the judges, joined them at 
Mr. Russell's, and resided there for awhile. He after- 
wards settled at New Haven, Conn., under the assumed 
name of Davids, where he died in 1689. 

During Philip's war these men, as appears, were still 
secreted in Hadley. In 1776 this town, at one time, 
was attacked by about seven hundred Indians. Over 
night the Indians had approached it, had laid an am- 
buscade at its southern extremity, and advanced the 
main body towards the other, and at daylight, as was 
their custom, " the attack was commenced, with great 
spirit ; " but the English turning out, received them at 
the palisades. 

The Indians gained possession of a house at the north 
end of the street, and fired a barn, but were in a short 
time driven back, with loss. The attack was renewed, 
on other points, and the Indians, though warmly op- 
posed, appeared determined on carrying the place ; but 
a discharge of a piece of ordinance checked their fury. 



200 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

and their ambuscade failing of its object, which was to 
surprise the people who might be driven from the 
village, they faltered, and fled away.* "At this mo- 
ment," says Dr. D wight, " an ancient man, wdth hoary 
locks, of a most venerable and dignified aspect, and in 
a dress widely differing from that of the inhabitants, 
appeared suddenly at their head, and with a firm voice, 
and an example of undaunted resolution, reanimated 
their spirits, led them again to the conflict, and totally 
routed the savages. When the battle was ended the 
stranger disappeared ; and no person knew whence he 
had come nor whither he had gone. 

The relief was so timely, so sudden, so unexpected, 
and so providential, the appearance and the retreat of 
him who furnished it were so unaccountable, his person 
was so dignified and commanding, his resolution so supe- 
rior, and his interference so decisive, that the inhabitants, 
without any uncommon exercise of credulity, readily 
believed him to be an angel, sent by Heaven for their 
preservation. Nor was this opinion seriously contro- 
verted until it was discovered, several years afterward, 
that Goffe and Whalley had been lodged in the house 
of Mr. Russell. Then it was known that their deliverer 
was Goffe. Whalley had, as it is said, become super- 
annuated, some time before this event took place. 

In the following drama. No. IV., further and more 
specific accounts of the secluded, fearful lives of these 
venerable regicides will occasionally appear, — as how, 
through life, they were pursued in our New England 
wilderness by the king's constables ; how they were 

* See Nason's Mass. Gazetteer, page 240. 



LOVEWELL, PAUGUS, AND THE REGICIDES. 20I 

secreted, fought for, and defended, from time to time, 
by Leonora, the celebrated squaw-sachem of Wachusett; 
and how this squaw, then young and energetic, assisted 
by her betrothed lover, Ki-a-nemo, had fought for and 
had given the Regicides a safe deliverance from the 
constables of an angry king, seeking blood ; and how 
in the old world, cruelty and crime as a prelude to this 
had cropped out, dividing the kingdoms into discordant 
factions, in the midst of which the bitter passions of 
men predominated, and the wildest fanaticisms and 
combinations became rabid in the conflict ; and how 
from all this, Parliament in its demoralizations and dis- 
tractions had invaded the prerogatives of the throne, 
imposing restraints upon the royal actions of Charles I., 
to a general disorganization ; and how the armies, the 
churches, and the people at large, had become dis- 
tracted, all at loggerheads, faction against faction, 
power against power, without the restraints of Parlia- 
ment, of the King, or of laws ; and how Oliver Crom- 
well and his court of seventy judges, arrested,- tried, 
convicted, and beheaded the King, drove out Parlia- 
ment, and terminated that kingdom ; and how by force 
of the armies for seven years he held and ruled England ; 
and, at his death, how the judges whose mandates had 
beheaded the King, being in the end (many of them) 
hunted down, and themselves executed, shall appear. 



THE REGICIDES. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — A Council Chamber in London^ and Crom- 
well alone. 

Cromwell. This heart and this head of mine are 
painful. To me, as well as to the realm, the times 
indeed are troublesome. Treason lurks in the king's 
councils; the royal Charles, himself, is a traitor. 
Kingly traitors, as many say, ought to be dethroned. 
Yonder doth London's tower open her crimson gates 
wide for traitors ; and the bloody axe, uplifted, impa- 
tiently awaits their coming. [Enter Bradshawe.] Ah, 
welcome, my valiant hero and friend, Bradshawe. Brad- 
shawe, thy appointment is to be one of the hundred 
judges, hereafter to be nominated, to try King Charles 
for treachery, — for high treason against Parliament, 
and against the people of this realm. And you, Brad- 
shawe, will preside over the court. 

Bradshawe. But under the laws of England, my 
dear Cromwell, by what right can a king be tried ? 
How can his majesty be thus assailed, who, by our great 
charter of rights, can do no wrong ? 

This, it appears to me, is an insurmountable barrier. 
That kings can do no wrong, is a maxim. 



THE REGICIDES. 203 

It is the great primeval starting point to all governments, 
and all grades of governments. How then, O Crom- 
well, is this great obstacle, riveted as it is in the public 
mind, to be overcome ? 

Cromwell. Ah, my lord, granted, it may be, that a 
king — who is a king under the law, and in the eyes of 
a generous people — can do no wrong, and that this 
your principle, in all and every organization of govern- 
ments, is sound, and is ever to be adhered to, — and 
should be carried out. I grant that the king, as well as 
every other leader, from the throne down through all 
the grades of government, even to the father of a 
family, are to stand honored and respected by their 
dependents as being powerless to do wrong. 

A government instituted and sustained on this grand 
old principle will always stand and prosper ; otherwise, 
by or through frenzy and faction, divided against itself, 
it must fall Thus, my lord, I concede the principle. 
But allow me, in my own opinion, to declare that Charles 
the First, being opposed to Parliament and the people, 
for years has not been, and is not now king, save in 
proclamation and fictitious form. 

Bradshawe, Well said, my lord. Yet Charles has 
the title of a king, wears the crown of a king, and still 
lives in the place of a king. 

Cromwell. Hardly that, most noble lord. He has 
been a king, but through duplicity and deceit ; he has 
made merchandise of all that is manly in himself, or 
profitable to the public. For all this, he is distracted, 
flying hither and thither for safety. His armies are 
divided, and his Parliament have severed themselves 
from his sovereignty, seeking to depose him. Surely a 



204 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

conflict is portending. Rivers of blood will flow in 
upon us if Charles is suffered to live. Up, then, my 
lord, and let this great people bestir themselves. 

[Exit Cromwell. Enter Dr. Drug. 

Bradshawe. Ah, my dear doctor, how fare you ? 
How do these agitations in the commonwealth appear 
to ye? 

Dr. Drug. They appear rash. I am oj^posed to all 
fanatics. Nay, I am opposed to all religions save that 
of the true church. By this soul of mine, I abominate, 
I hate the queen, in her Protestantism, who is an Aus- 
trian. On the contrary, I magnify Charles, the king, in 
the fervent faith of his sovereignty. 

Bradshawe. True, but the factions v;ith which gov- 
ernment has to grapple are antagonistic, — they per- 
vading England, Scotland, and Ireland, are numerous 
and strong. You, doctor, are a believer in the Church 
of England, another is an advocate for the Catholicism 
of Ireland, another would take sides with the Protestant 
dissenters of Scotland. Many hate the king, many the 
queen, and very many the Parliament ; and many are 
the outspoken complaints against all these in the armies 
of which Cromwell is chief. 

Dr. Drug. Thou speakest truth, my lord ; but thou 
knowest it hath been revealed there is but one church, 
and that church, as I am prepared to prove, is this, our 
Church of England. This is in exact accordance with 
the doctrines of divine writ, and to the creed of the 
church. {Exit Drug. Enter McPherson. 

Bradshawe. How now, McPherson ; what appear- 
ances have ye for peace ? You, I am thinking, are rec- 
onciled to the royal house of Charles. 



THE REGICIDES. 205 

McPherson {Irish). And what is that, pray? A 
house, is it, that your hoHness is speaking about ? Ah, 
I see ! and faith, and the king has no religion, not a bit 
of it. And I, meself, am a Catholic, and why should n't 
meself dislike the king ? 

Bradshawe. I was not inquiring for your faith, sir, 
but whether you and your race think favorably of the 
king? 

McPherson. And what, indeed, does your lordship 
mean by that ? A divil of a bit of favor do I ask of 
him. In all I Ve heerd of him he has proved himself 
a tyrant and a blackguard. He 's indade a traitor, and, 
your holiness, I 'm told he is about plotting against our 
holy Catholic faith, and the Virgin Mary. 

Bradshawe. Yea, true it is ; the crown is in trouble. 
Parliament is opposed to his majesty. War in Ireland, 
war in Scotland. The church, the Catholics, and the 
dissenters are all at loggerheads. \Exit. 

[A sudden ringing of church bells is here heard, and the 
people, who have been dropping in to its door, now appear 
as if to fill the adjoining church^ [Curtain. 

Scene II. — The inside of an old Church, with seats of 
three-legged stools. 

McPherson {alone). In this place, it would same to 
me, the Protestants are more than the church people. 
They assemble here. And true, it is the bishop is per- 
sistent ; and here, too, there is a conflict. \Enter 
Jennie Geddes.] Who comes ? Ah, 'tis Aunt Jennie ! 
How fare ye ? You still are adhering to your true Pro- 
testant faith. Indade, ye are, and ye are coming to 
church. 



206 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Jennie. Most assuredly. My faith never, never fail- 
eth. Although a martyr I may perish, I in truth dis- 
sent. A dissenter, I protest against the forms of a 
pretended, spurious holiness. The God we worship 
requires no idle outside show ; no forms, no broad 
phylacteries. \^Enter Margery.] But here is my sis- 
ter in the faith. Come, Margery, let us enter the tem- 
ple, for the hour hath come, and here will we worship 
in the beauty of holiness. Oh come, let us sing. 

Singing in chorus. 

Shout, shout, we 're gaining ground, 
Satan's kingdom is coming down, 

Halle - hallelujah ! 
Firm in faith to the cross we cling, 
Up we 're moving on the wing, 

Glory hallelujah. 
Chorus. — Shout, etc. 

Up to heaven our voices blend, 
High aloft our prayers ascend, 
Halle — Hallelujah. 
Chorus. — Shout, we 're gaining ground, 
Halle — hallelujah! 
Satan's kingdom is tumbling down, 
Glory hallelujah I 

\_Music?^ 

Scene III. — Same. Open church, low pulpit. 

Margery {rising up). It is commanded in our books 
of revealed truth as if to say, " Come unto me all ye 
that labor and are "heavy laden, and I will give ye rest." 
This is glorious ; yet in all his gifts the Great Divine 
hath given to us all aspirations to advance and to labor 
in his great works. 



THE REGICIDES. 20/ 

\Entered^ the Bishop ascending the pulpit, is kneeling. 
Soon then, book iit hand, he begins to read a prayer, at 
which all rise, furiously exclaiming\ : 

Ungodliness ! ungodliness ! 'T is an abomination ! 
Out upon all your forms and ceremonies ! {The priest 
seeking safety in flight, Jennie, seizing a stool, hu7'ls it 
with a vengeance at his priestly head ; all pursuing him, 
vociferously giving him battle, following, boosting him 
out of the window^ \Curtain. 

Scene IV. — Hamilton Court. Royal Palace. King 
Charles I. soliloquizing. 

King. Herein there is much doubt, much dismay. 
These religions of the realm distract my senses. These 
church quarrels — so daring, so desperate, and so fatal 
— are not mine; not mine in the beginning; not mine 
in their conflicting augmentations. Yet the shafts of 
the conflict are all made to fall, aimed as they are, upon 
my own head. Treason still lurks in the armies of the 
Crown, with factious notions and religious frenzies ; 
taking wings, they, like a pestilence, fill the air. 

{Enter McPherson. 

McPherson. Tidings, tidings, your Majesty. The 
great Parliament hath voted and have taken away yr 
Majesty's prerogatives. Indade, the Lords and the 
Commons have all become rebels. And by faith, and 
the Earl of Essex has been made their chief officer, 
threatening the Crown, and making war in the midst of 
your Majesty's forces. 

King. Traitors they live ! Traitors they '11 die, full 
of treason. To arms, to arms, will I call all my loyal 
subjects. At Leicester, at Naseby, at Winchester, at 



208 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Marston Moor, at New Castle, I '11 give that Parliament 
battle. Meanwhile, London shall be fortified. 

McPho'son. But be assured there is danger to the 
throne. Cromwell (and faith he distrusts ye) reigns. 
Flee for your life, away. The deceptive subterfuges of 
past years, vacillating doth betray thee ! Thy foes 
concentrate to torment thee ; and faith, ye may well 
believe, ye 'd better fly. \Exit. 

\Thence out goes the King, attended by John Berkley, 
AsHBURNHAM, (^;2^ Legge, lurkifig aho7ct ill disguise con- 
cealing himself — and thence he flies to the Isle of Wight 
and Hammond^ where afterwards CromweW s officers take 
and imprison him in Carisbroke Castle?^ 
\_Music.'\ 

Scene V. — Aft army tent with a military court. 
The King secured elsewhere. Enter Cromwell and 
President of Court. 

Cromwell. Gentlemen, Officers. Understanding a 
disaffection exists in the army, Ireton and Fleetwood, 
my generals, were delegated of the Long Parliament to 
inquire into the cause of impending disorders. 

President of the Court. General, we have deliberated 
upon that matter, and find the soldiers, in the main, to 
be the authors of their own discontents, fomented only 
by a distracted Parliament and the duplicity of a king. 

Cromwell. Then let five hundred horsemen move 
upon the King, under the command of Joice. {Here 
breaks iiifrom without a shrill sound of trumpets?) 
[Martial Music] 



THE REGICIDES. 2O9 

Scene VI. — A Prison^ and King Charles I. within it. 

King. Here am I, a king in bonds ; a king who can 
do no wrong ; a king not knowing for what cause nor 
by what laws I am thus incarcerated. 

[Enter ]oic'E., pisfolin hand, with a platoon of soldiers. 

Joice (^pointing directly to the King). Forward ! 

King. Whither ? 

Joice. To the army. 

King. By what warrant ? 

Joice. {Silent, but pointing hack to his soldiers). 

King (smiling). Your warrant is writ in fair char- 
acters, legible without spelling. (At sound of horn and 
trumpet they move away.) [Curtain. Music. 

Scene VII. — Army tent again. Present Cromwell; 
and Bradshawe in scarlet. 

Cromwell, rfow is this, Bradshawe ? What is your 
opinion ? The King stood in the way of the Long 
Parliament, and now the King is secure. The Long 
Parliament stands in the way of the people and of the 
armies of this realm. The King being at our disposal, 
what next shall be done with the Long Parliament, 
whose deadly usurpations are proving fatal to England's 
peace and prosperity. 

Bradshawe. This Parliament hath made the power 
of the King a nullity. That body has no power of it- 
self, and there is none left in the King, if we had one. 
Hence, if we had a king he would be a king without 
power, and Parliament is powerless without any con- 
sent of the people or of England's armies. 

Cromwell. Up, then! Let the ringleaders in the 



210 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

army now plotting against my orders be instantly tried 
and shot. Let Charles be dethroned, — beheaded if 
need be, — and let the House of Commons, now usur- 
pers without right or power, be dissolved ; and let this 
government once again return to its wonted authority 
and prosperity. But Bradshawe, take care in the mean- 
time ; it is our own counsels we are to keep. \_E7iter 
Pride.] Ah, here is Pride, my gallant general officer 
of the army. Pride, take two regiments of infantry, 
choice soldiers. March forth, surround the House of 
Commons ; seize and imprison the Presbyterians ; ex- 
clude all others. Allow none to enter but the Indepen- 
dents, my council of officers well disposed and deter- 
mined, and let that House be purged of its poisons. 
\Trumpets sound withouf?\ \_Exit. Curtain. 

Scene VI H. — King's Quarters. Prese?tt members of 
his family {Scotlajid), Enter Joice and soldiers. 

Joice. I have to announce to your Majesty that the 
government has declared it to be treason in the king 
that he hath levied war against the parliament of the 
people. 

Ki7ig {aside to his attendants^. But how, and by what 
law, can any such decree be execuied ? since a sovereign, 
in law, can do no wrong. 

Joice. I understand this to be a movement of the 
people, upon the ground, assumed, that the people are 
the origin of all just and legal power. Hence the Com- 
mons have voted and declared that they are the repre- 
sentatives of the people ; and that their enactments 
have, in this regard, the force of law, without the con- 
sent of king or peers. 



THE REGICIDES. 211 

King {aside), I am to understand from this, assassi- 
nation is intended. But, Colonel, what is the intent of 
your mission ? 

Joice. I am commissioned to conduct your majesty 
to London. 

King. Colonel, what I demand, is your warrant. 

Joice. The warrant is in writing {producing the paper). 
The offence of levying war against Parliament is herein 
charged against your Majesty ; and a high court, of one 
hundred and thirty judges, has been constituted to sit 
at your Majesty's trial. Hence you will prepare, as I 
must now advance with your Majesty to Westminster Hall. 
( The Kiftg here seizes aiid embraces his little son [the Duke 
of Gloucester, nine years of age] ; /lext his young daughter 
[the Frificess Elizabeth, then thirteen years of age] falls 
upon his neck, e77ibracing him ; and then the cold embrace of 
an unfaithful wife ; and then the King steps to his place 
between the files of soldiers.) 

Joice. Forward ! For Westminster. 

Soldiers {exclaiming simultaneously). Justice ! Jus- 
tice ! 

King. Poor souls ! For a little money they would 
do as much against their commanders. 
\Exeunt, with martial music and trumpets in the distance^ 
[Music] 

Scene IX. — Same. Present McPherson. Enter 

Messenger. 

Messenger. I would see the queen. I am told to 
announce to her that the Grand Court of England is in 
session on the trial for treason of King Charles. 

McPherson. And faith, and the queen cannot now be 



212 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

seen, not at all, at all. She is at her love-feast, in the 
east room, with an intimate lord. And sure it would be 
bad luck to meself to interrupt the quane in the least 
bit of a mite, at all. 

Messenger. But my message would be of great inter- 
est to her.- 

McFhersofi. No, and be faith, but do ye think that 
your message is better than Lord Lovewell's business ? 
Not at all, at all. 

Messenger. But tell her I have a message from her 
liege lord. King Charles. And haste ! 'T is the king's 
business. 

McPherson. Haste ! Do ye mean to insult me ? 
And faith, there's nobody's business that requires more 
haste than Lord Lovewell's. And I '11 not interrupt 
the quane with her lord, not at all, at all ; and ye must 
wait. 

Messenger. If not the queen, then may I be per- 
mitted to the presence of Princess Elizabeth, and the 
young duke. 

McPherson. Oh, yes ; they are the true son and 
daughter of King Charles. Indade how he hath loved 
um ! The young duke is the exact image of his dear 
father. {A slide opens to them.) You shall see them. 
{Introducing them.) This is the princess. [Exit. 

Messenger. Dear Princess, I am here to announce to 
your mother the queen, and to yourselves, the sad intel- 
ligence that his Majesty is now being tried by the High 
Court for treason, the court having long been in session. 
{Princess bringing her kerchief to her tears ^ 

Princess. What, sir, hath agitated this ? Who is it, 
that seeks the life of my dear, dear father, the King of 



THE REGICIDES. 213 

England ? How could he be guilty of a wrong ? By 
what right does such an accusation come ? Whence, oh 
whence, these threatenings of death, which are to make 
me an orphan ? Leave me alone {meeping)^ leave me 
alone ! alone ! alone ! 

Messenger. Weep not, my fair princess. This per- 
turbation must be of but short duration. It cometh like 
a tidal wave. 'T is a movement of the people, and may 
soon, like the ocean tide, set backward. This trial, the 
populace have willed it, and thus it happens. 

Young Duke. But what had my dear father done to 
provoke the people ? 

Messenger. He is charged of having levied war 
against Parliament, and 't is for this treason he is being 
tried for his life. And from him I 've come, making the 
announcement of his dread danger. 

Young Duke. My dear father being tried for his life, 
do you say, sir ? Do armed soldiers stand around him ? 
Will they lock him up in a dungeon of the Tower ? Oh 
dear, dear ! Will they kill him with the bloody axe ? 

Messenger. Oh, no ; he is being tried at Westminster 
Hall. 'Tis not at the Tower. 

Princess. Tell me, oh tell me, that I may know, for 
what is the trial had ? What, oh what, has my father 
done, that they in anger should seek his blood (weeping, 
and embracing hint) ? 

Young Duke {standing up ambitiously). War, war 
we '11 have ! I '11 go with you. / '// levy war upon Par- 
liament 1 I '11 defend, I '11 defend the crown. I '11 smite 
the enemies of my dear old father. Away ! away ! I '11 
go with thee. Let us go. 

Messenger. Ah, vain youth, thou art ambitious, but 



214 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

thou art powerless now. Yet the time may come when 
thou mayest be a king thyself. 

Princess. Stay, my dear young brother. Thou art a 
duke. Stay, thy life here is now safe, but how long my 
poor head, or thine own dear life, shall be safe after my 
own dear, dear father is murdered, we know not. Stay, 
and let us take counsel of our seniors. But, oh where 
is my dear mother ? Thrice called, but does not come. 
Alas ! alas ! 

Messenger. Ah! Obviously her love is not royal, 
but lordly. Give her the message. Adieu ! adieu ! 

\Exit. Enter McPherson. 

McPherson. And faith, and they have taken the 
King away from the trial, and they are about going 
away to murther him at the street of White Hall. 
Mizerable blackguards ! Bad luck to um ! Bad luck 
to the murtherers, to ivery mother's son of um. But I 
must keep safe this ould castle, or me own head will 
come off. Ah, list ! what is that ? {Sound of trumpets 
and martial music without^ And faith it is now the 
time they are after about murthering the King himself, 
bad luck to the bloody blackguards ! 
\A dirge.'] 

[Curtain rises ^ unveiling as in tableau the death scene 
of the King on the scaffold in the street^ attended by the 
executioner masked^ priest and others^ and Bradshawe in 
costume of scarlet^ dirge still being played^ 



ACT II. 

Scene I. — Cromwell at the do&r of Parliament. 

Cromwell. This Parliament is jealous of my power, 
and now that Charles is dead, it is fit that the soldiery 
should have a care for the people, and for Parliament 
in behalf of the people. \_Enter White in zmiform, 
followed by soldiers.'] White, come forth with your in- 
fantry ; place soldiers at the door ; one hundred men in 
the lobby, and one hundred on the stairway, and I will 
enter and will proclaim to them of their tyranny and 
oppression as vile usurpers. [Cromwell /<2^j"^x in. 

Lesley, alias Dr. Drug. Shame on that Cromwell, 
— that Agag, that tyrant in superstition and knavery. 
The Lord has hid his face from Jacob, only for awhile. 
Out upon Cromwell ! Drive him away ! Drive him 
away ! As he hath intended to embark for the new 
world, drive him away. Send him seaward. \Curtain. 

[Enter White, as the curtain rising discloses the en- 
trance to Parliament?^ 

White. What seek ye here ? 

A Member, We are seeking the Lord. 

White. What ? In Parliament, seeking the Lord ? 

Member. Yes. 

White. Well then, then you may go. The Lord 
has n't been here for years. \M.ym^^^ passes out. 

215 



21 6 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Lesley. But why should we be deposed ? We are 
the true Parliament chosen by the people. 

White. I too am chosen by the people, the Almighty 
God, and Oliver Cromwell. Thou art among those 
that stand condemned of the people as being hypocrites, 
perjurers, and tyrants and devils. Depart then from 
these walls, and make room, yielding to the sovereign 
will of this nation, and to the will of God himself, and 
of Cromwell, the great defender of this realm. Depart. 

Lesley. Well, then, it is might that makes this move- 
ment right. We vacate at the w^ll of Oliver Cromwell, 
and Parliament is dissolved. (^//, rising, driven by 
C?'omwell {within), are beginning to press out of the door?) 

[Curtain, Music. 

Scene II. — A mansion. 

Richard {son of Croinwell, alone). The long seven 
years of the Commonwealth are now nearly passed. 
Short and tardy its months have seemed to me, — a 
dream.. It is not strange, however, that intervening 
conflicts and cares, which have oft afflicted the Com.- 
monwealth, should seemingly accelerate time in its 
flight. Yet have we, in the meantime, been blessed 
with congratulations from the army, from the naval 
fleets, and from the many and vast corporations of the 
Realm, and from all the congregations of the saints. 
Thence hath the nation been made glad in peace, in 
better manners, and in its progressions. And thus 
Cromwell, my venerable father, hath crowned his Com- 
monwealth to a saving success. But the years of his 
servitude as Protector of England are hanging heavily 
upon him. [Enter Dr. Drug.] Good morrow. Dr. 



THE REGICIDES. 21/ 

Drug. I have just been contemplating, as in a review 
of the past, the progress of this, our Christian Common- 
wealth, in its duration of nearly seven years. How 
do you prosper, sir? 

Dr. Drug. Prosper ! Not a bit of it. How can a 
subject prosper when he can have no faith in his gov- 
ernment. No confidence in a Commonwealth or a 
Cromwell, though it may be treason to proclaim it. I 
am outspoken. True, in me own belief, if you would 
have permanent peace and prosperity, the government 
must be restored to a kingdom. 

Richard. But you had a kingdom ; yet it divided 
itself into direst distractions, and it fell from its own 
infirmities. It was sick, it was sinking, and there was 
no hope for mortals within it, but in a Commonwealth 
and a Cromwell. 

Dr. Drug. True ! but if I 'd had me own will in 
those years of horror, I would have hanged the Dissen- 
ters, every mother's son of um, and would have given 
the crown to sweet Ireland. And then, indade, it 
would have been bad luck to the English snobs, owners 
of the sile. \Exit Richard. Enter Jennie Geddes.] 
Ah, Jennie, it is you. Come in. We hail you as 
friendly to the Holy Catholic faith, and as against 
Cromwell and his adherents. 

Jennie. Oh, no ! I still maintain my own true wor- 
ship. I am neither Catholic, Episcopal, Quaker, or 
Protestant. My faith is in the God of Israel ; mine the 
religion of old Scotia. An Independent, my cares are 
for my kindred, my prayers outspoken are unwritten, 
and my hope is in Heaven and Oliver Cromwell. {And 
she sings) — 



2l8 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Shout I shout ! we 're a-gaining ground, — 

Halle -halle-lujah ! 
Satan's kingdom is tumbling down, — 

Glory hallelujah ! 

Dr, Drug. Indade, Jennie, you are too gay for 
comfort. I take thee as thou art, an Independent. 
But soon shall ye see Cromwell's administration as 
Supreme Protector of England ended. In case of his 
demise it will terminate with his life. I have dreams 
of it. But come now, Jennie, as you are in the mood of 
it, inspire us, yes, elate us, with another song. 

Jennie (singing in the same strain) — 

Shout ! Shout ! we 're a-gaining ground, — 

Halle-halle-lujah ! 
The Devil's kingdom is coming down, — 

Glory hallelujah ! 

« « » * « 

Scene III. — Cromwell alone^ at his headquarters, his 
locks gray, his armor, his sword, pistols by his side, and 
guards at the door. 

Cromwell {lights half extinguished) . The seven years 
of government, loading these locks of mine with frosts 
of winter, have vanished, vanished ; as if we had all, 
meanwhile, been slumbering. Time, widi its multi- 
farious happenings, hath imperceptibly advanced, as 
if the mind had been entranced in a dream. This 
is indeed a dreary night. My government is Hable to 
accidents. Fanaticisms compass me about. Treachery 
tries to mislead and betray me. Not long do I sleep in a 
place. I return not on the same road. I trust no 
stranger. A strong armor adheres to this frail body of 
mine. Vigilant guards, attentive daily and nightly, are 



THE REGICIDES. 2I9 

the insurers of life. \Enter Mrs. Claypole.] Who 
comes ? Ah, it is my dear, dear daughter (she flies to 
him, embracing him). Daughter, why are you here, at 
this late hour? 

Mrs. Claypole. Ah, my dear father, I have come to 
beseech your clemency, that you may spare the life of 
my dear friend. Dr. Huet. 

Cromwell. Oh, how common to those who are most 
dear to distract me with vain behests ! I am surrounded 
with spies, eager for the overthrow of my government. 
On my mandates, and the sure penalties of violated law, 
the peace and well-being of three kingdoms depend. 
The treachery of one man unpunished, though he be 
thy friend, may effect the downfall of all. Nay, the 
continuation of the life of thy friend might cause the 
loss of mine and thine. Be assured, dear daughter, I 
am the Protector of this realm, never to sanction an 
unjust penalty, forever meditating the greatest good to 
the greatest number. Every consideration has to yield 
to that end. That your father, as Protector of England, 
should act from his own sympathy, as it moves him, or 
from thine, is but impossible. 

Mrs. Claypole. Then I fear the court's decree will 
be executed ; and hence that your dear daughter, now 
in declining health, will perish also. Dear father, 
adieu. 

Cromivell. Adieu ! and may God bless you. Ah, 
\Enter Mrs. Fleetwood, embracing him\ another 
daughter ! 

Mrs. Fleetwood. Father, sad it is to me to find you 
melancholy. It is meet that the sovereign of a great 
realm should be cheerful. 



220 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Cromwell. But how, my dear, can this heart of 
mine, incased with an iron shield, be cheerful ? In the 
midst of tyrants and assassins, in the midst of conflicts, 
in the midst of dynasties, royal, clerical, and layical, in 
the midst of multifarious combinations and cruel con- 
spiracies, all tending to distraction and disorganization, 
who that has a heart of humanity can be cheerful ? 
Nay, dear daughter, ask cheerfulness from the gates of 
death, not from thy father, whose right arm, for seven 
years, through much blood, from necessity, hath held 
these three kingdoms, amid the wild infatuation of the 
times, from impending ruin. 

Mt's. Fleetwood. Would it not be more practical, and 
easier to be administered, were you to give your gov- 
ernment a republican form ? 

Cromwell. Indeed, that would be well ; but as yet 
this people are in no way prepared for such a govern- 
ment. 

Mrs. Fleetwood. From this, the many crushing cares 
that prey upon and burden you are apparent. I know 
thee to be burdened as man never before was burdened. 
But what most alarms us, making me sad, dear father, 
is the appearance of this fever which now afflicts you. 

Cromwell. Be not disturbed. I have communed 
with Heaven ; I am not to die of any threatened fever. 
The world needs me longer I, however, must retire, 
and take my rest. 

\Exit. Enter Naylor. 

Naylor. Dost thou know Cromwell, the Protector. 

Mrs. Fleetwood. Know him ? yes, indeed, I do know 
him. He is within. 

Naylor. Canst thee allow me to see him ? 



THE REGICIDES. 221 

Mrs. Fleetwood. No. He has retired, and is quite 
ill, dangerously, I fear. 

Naylor. But thou shouldst know I have a mission, 
having been transformed to become the Saviour of the 
world. 

Mrs. Fleetwood. Yes, I've heard of you, and I have 
heard of another Quaker, who, while fasting his forty 
days, bravely starved to death. What if you were to go 
and do likewise ? 

Naylor. By my divine mission, I have come to this 
city, in haste, upon a horse, and have authority to heal 
the sick and to cast out devils. 

Mrs. Fleetwood. Why did you come on a horse ? 
could n't ye find an ass ? One sick would not choose to 
be healed by any of your faith. As to devils, they were 
all cast out when Parliament was dissolved. 

Naylor. " Thou hast said it." Thou hast a father ; 
a Protector, as we all know. But you will understand 
there is no protector but Him whom we serve ; and by 
my mission I am to reign in this realm, — and rule too. 

[Enter Guards. 

Mrs. Fleetwood. Guards, take this Quaker away, out 
from my presence. Let him be cared for according to 
his deserts. {The Guards, seizing the Quaker, in their 
haste pitch him out headlong^ Oh, that is too cruel ! 
But Quakers, with other frenzied fanatics, have long 
been offensive enemies to our peace. Poor, deluded 
mortals ! They are good men, but they serve, with 
others, to foment discord. They know not what they 
do. {A tea-bell rings?) Ah, I must return to my sick 
father. Fearful forebodings move me. 
\A Dirge.'] 



222 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Scene IV. — In a Palace. Peters alone. 

Peters. News that the great Cromwell hath expired 
is startling ! England will never see his like again. 
\Enter Richard.] Oh, my friend, what now ? 

Richard. Now that my dear father is no more, his 
sceptre inevitably must fall upon someone. The peo- 
ple will tender it to me, but I conceive that the burden 
of a Protector's power would prove too heavy for an 
untutored son. I would decline it. The affairs of 
state would oppress any sovereign other than Cromwell 
himself. 

Peters. Yes, Richard, sure it is, the office of Pro- 
tector hath descended to thee. Disdain not this mantle 
of thy father, the great, the humane peacemaker of 
nationalities. For the sake of these islands, these 
ancient kingdoms, refuse not this sovereign power. 

Richard. The position is hazardous. Who is suf- 
ficient for it ? 

Peters. Richard, the power of Protector must now 
fall upon thee. Disdain it not. For the sake of peace, 
for the sake of the prosperity of a vast people ; nay, for 
the safety of my life as well as of thine, refuse it not. 

Richard. Ah ! There 's danger on either hand. 
The position without the force would be hazardous. 
Show me the man that hath in him the force of Oliver 
Cromwell, — I will then vacate, and upon him shall the 
mantle fall. 

Peters. Nay, I tell thee, my dear Richard, say it 
not. Do not thus jeopardize this, the Protection of 
England, in the opening of an avenue to fanaticisms and 
religious frenzies, as of old. For the sake of the people's 



THE REGICIDES. 223 

government, for the sake of the enduring fame of thy 
sainted father, the Cromwell of England and of the 
world ; nay, for the sake of the lives of his adherents 
and thine, who in the dark hour of England's history, 
have stood up manfully against distracting tyranny at 
the mandates of thy valiant, sainted father, refuse not 
this sceptre of power. It descends from thine own 
father. For the peace of the realm, for his sake, and 
for the sake of our lives, resign not this thy position. 

Richard. Of all this matter I must consider. Why 
should n't a man prefer the independence of a man, to 
the honors and dishonors of a throne ? Strange as it 
may seem, I must say, give me a manly independence, 
rather than a priestly, princely power, in the midst of 
heartless, distracted factions. Beyond this, naught but 
the lives of my father's friends and the peace of this 
Comimonwealth can move me. Spare me then, and let 
me consider. \Exit, 

{Enter Dr. X^^^x^g^ followed by a Messenger. 

Messenger. Great news. Doctor; great news. The 
air is full of it ! 

Dr. Drug. Ah, yes ; and we are always alive to 
hear it. News in startling times is always in order, 
always sought for eagerly. It never pines for the want 
of listeners. Yesternight it happened, a man as he 
came running down town, stopped to take and read the 
news ; and he read as how Cromwell had died of the 
pills they had given him ; and as how Richard, his son, 
had inherited his mantle ; and as how, on the other 
hand, Scotland and the royal factions are making many 
proclamations for Charles Stuart to be enthroned as 
king. And thus had the man read the news a long 



224 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

time, then, pondering, he threw down the newspaper 
exclaiming, " Oh, I must hasten away to Dr. Drug, for 
my wife is dying." 

Messenger. Your patients, Doctor, so fond of the 
news, must give you much entertainment. 

Dr. Drug. Yes, indeed, I am entertained by a va- 
riety of characters and by a complication of troublesome 
diseases. \E71ter Margery, Irish. 

Margery. Dear, dear Doctor. I desire you at my 
house in a hurry. 

Dr. Drug (dropping his newspaper). Why, what is 
the matter, madam ? What is the matter ? 

Margery. Ah, ye reverence, wait a little, and I '11 
tell ye. Yesterday my ould man, in hurrying down 
Fleet Street, by accident run against a lawyer, and in 
trouth, I say it, he has n't been able to spake a word of 
trouth since ? Indade and indade, it is so. 

Dr. Drug. It is a bad disease, madam, very bad. 
But, madam, what lawyer did he run against ? 

Margery. Indade, indade ; it was aginst that ould 
baste of a barrister, Ould Grimstone. 

Dr. Drug. What.? Sir Harbottle Grimstone .? Why, 
it 's that same old barrister candidate, lawyer of the 
Crown. 

Margery. And faith, it 's that very same ould brute 
of a blackguard, Sir Harbottle. 

Dr. Drug. Well, then, if your man has run against 
Old Harbottle, I guess, I guess he '11 die. It 's a hard 
case, a hard case, madam, anyhow. 

Margery. Then make haste. Doctor. Hurry up, 
and come to me at me own house. 

Dr. Drug. I can't, madam. At this moment I have 



THE REGICIDES. 225 

another engagement to another patient a mile away, 
and I must make haste to be there. 

Margery. Then, your worship, please be about pre- 
scribing for me ould man, that I, before ye get there, 
may be about releaving him meself. 

Dr. Drug. Well, the case is a bad one. The ven- 
omous jostle of a lawyer is dangerous. Go to the 
apothecary, get and give to your old man, first, a full 
dose of calomel, to be followed up by five doses of 
physic to get the lies out of him. Next, bathe him all 
over externally with the tincture of obedeldock, and at 
the same time give him internally forty grains of truth- 
fulness, and when I come to ye I will blister him and 
bleed, then I '11 bleed him until he is cured. 

Margery. Yes, faith, and true enough, you '11 blade 
the ould man. — Yes, you '11 blade him. {Exit. Music. 

Scene V. — A parlor. Harrison, Scot, Carew, 
Clement, Jones, Scrope, Axtel, Hacker, and Coke, 
the Regicides^ tmder excitement. 

Harrison. What means this, that Richard should 
have faltered ? Why should he have distrusted the 
strength of this Commonwealth or of his own Protec- 
torship ? Strange that a son should thus lose faith in 
his father's fame or in his own power ; strange that any 
man should thus falter, and turn back from the faith 
and leadership of Oliver Cromwell. 

Jones. Ah, Richard is but a blank, a blank. He is 
not a true son of his valiant old father, under whom 
Great Britain has survived the shock of fanatic contend- 
ing factions, and for these seven years has lived and 
prospered. \Entcr Peters. 



226 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Peters. Faith, I am glad to see you all ; all as yet 
alive. They charge that I, as a clergyman, have stirred 
sedition against King Charles I., and that your de- 
crees in the great court lost him his life. What now 
shall be done ? Cromwell is dead ; Richard, his son, 
lives, but, half-disheartened, preferring the life of a wild 
hunter to that of the great Protector of England. 
Charles II. is now enthroned. What now is to become 
of me, and what of you, who sat in judgment against his 
father. King Charles I., whom you beheaded, and 
against whom I lira versed this realm, warning the popu- 
lace to beware of his treacherous mandates. 

Jones. What, then, if as regicides our heads are at 
stake, what shall be done ? Shall we brave the seas ? 
Shall we fly away for the New World, as Goffe and 
Whalley and Dixwell have done ? Or shall we retract, 
turn royalists, confess, and sue for pardon ? 

Harrison Ask pardon for what ? Ask pardon ? For 
what ? For love of life ? Ask pardon for patriotism t 
No, never. Neither principalities, nor powers, nor the 
wild threatenings of death by the Crown shall induce 
me to retract from Cromwell's cause, which was a glo- 
rious cause, the cause of the people and the cause of 
God. 

Jones. Yet there are invitations. The royal arm of 
mercy is extended upon the terms of a recantation, as 
if the beheading of the king had been a crime, and re- 
quiring of us obedient homage to his son, now pro- 
claimed King of England. Shall we yield, or shall we 
try to fly ? 

Peters. No ! Never, never. " Charles I. lived and 
died a hypocrite. Charles II. is a hypocrite of another 



THE REGICIDES. 22/ 

sort, and ought to die upon the same scaffold." * Re- 
tract? Never from the freedom of Cromwell; never 
from the just cause of England and of our God. 
Never, never. 

\Enter the King's Officer and posse, with warrant 
in hand against the regicides^ 

Kiftg's Officer. The regicides are all wanted. There 
is my warrant from King Charles II. Answer as I 
call (calling and each a?iswering) : Hugh Peters — 
(Here), — Harrison — (Here), — Scott — (Here), — 
Carew — (Here), — Clement — (Here), — Jones — 
(Here), — Scrope — (Here), Extel — (Here), — Colonel 
Hacker — (Here), — Coke — (Here), — William Goffe 

— (No answer), — Whalley — (No answer), — Dixwell 

— (A voice from without, Absent, they desire to be ex- 
cused). 

Harrison. Judges Goffe and Whalley and Dixwell 
are away on the high seas for New England. They 
have no care of seeing ye at all. 

King's Officer. Forward, now, for the King's pres- 
ence at Whitehall. {They advance between the files of 
soldiers.'] [Dirge. 

* Junius Letters. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. — On a seashore in New England^ walkings 
and near an open cot, which they enter. 

Whalley. Goffe, this is indeed a new world. The 
ship and the ocean wave have well served us. Away 
we are, from royal tyrants. In vain, in vain, they sought 
our lives. 

Goffe. Yes, but the emissaries of that tyrant king 
will come here ; hither they will still pursue us. And 
now where shall we seek an abode ? Where shall we 
find a place of rest, in which to secrete ourselves from 
a royal enemy, — an enemy whose minions shall lurk 
along these woodland shores seeking blood. 

Whalley, Some dark cave or cellar in some lonely 
hamlet will best serve to secrete us. Our associates, 
the judges who helped to behead King Charles of 
England, are now about to fall beneath the bloody axe. 
Perish, as of course they must, at the cruel behest of 
royalty. Fortunate, thus far, that we have escaped. 
Nevertheless, a foreign foe, pursuing us, does now, and 
henceforth must needs linger along the pathways of this 
wilderness. 

Goffe. True. And if taken, we will be hastened 
back over the high seas, to be mangled, murdered there ; 
to perish as vanquished victims of Charles II., that 
228 



THE REGICIDES. 229 

blood-stained successor of the great and glorious Crom- 
well. 

Whalley. Take courage ! This new world, with its 
lofty old forests and lonely hamlets, has many hiding- 
places. Its wandering tribes, without knowledge, will 
be no tell-tales. But these walls are too public. They 
seem to echo ominous sounds, which may betray us. 

{Enter Nimrod. 

Nimrod, A ship, a ship is nearing the shore. It 
bears to the breeze the British flag. In truth, at its 
masthead flaunts the new and significant name, Charles 
II., King of England. [Exit. 

Goffe {privately). List, Whalley, list ! There's dan- 
ger on board there. An enemy, an officer of the Crown, 
seeking us. Away ! away ! Which way shall we fly ? 

\_They start. 
[Music] 

(Sailors from on hoards and from without^ Ship ahoy I 
ahoy ! Throw in the cables^ oho-o ! pull away, oho I oho /) 

Scene II. — Present Mrs. Whitterwinkle and a sailor. 
Enter Aysene, the King's Constable, with an assistant. 

King's Constable. Madam, please inform me if here- 
abouts you have seen two Englishmen, well dressed, 
and of respectable appearance. 

Whitterwinkle. What, one of them a tall, long and 
white-haired ould gintleman, with long beard ? , 

King's Constable. Yes. 

Whitterwijikle. And the other a thick-set, dark- 
skinned old man, with long mustache, with white hair, 
and white whiskers ? 

King's Constable. Yes. 



230 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Whitterwin^le. Well, I haven't seen any such men. 
(^Officer starts to leave.) 

Nimrod. Here, yer reverence, come back 1 Look 
ahere ! Do ye want to know the whereabouts of them 
there Englishmen ? 

Ki?ig's Constable, Yes. 

Nimrod. Well, away down the road, yonder, as you 
know, there's a bit of a woodpile. 

Kifig's Co7tstable. Yes. 

Nimrod. And jist beyond the woodpile there's an 
old garrison-house. 

King's Constable. Yes. 

Nimrod. And jist beyond the garrison-house there's 
a bit of an ould shed. 

Kin^s Constable. Well— yes. What then ? 

Nimrod. And, plaise yer worship, I 've been there. 
Yer Regicides ain't there ; they are not there, not at all 
at all. 

King's Constable. And why didn't ye tell me that 
before ? 

Nimrod. And faith, and why were ye not after asking 
me that 1 

King's Constable. The men whom I seek are in 
cocked-hats. 

Nimrod. Cocked-hats ? And faith, and I don't be- 
lieve ye '11 find one of um in all Ameriky. Indade, 
ye '11 have to budge back to the ould country to find " a 
cocked hat." And I am far from thinking ye are here 
for any good. Blast me, if I think ye '11 find anybody 
that will claim to see ye at all anywhere hereabouts. 

\Exit King's Officer. Enter Margery. 

Margery. Now that the ould bright-buttoned bugs are 



THE REGICIDES. 23 I 

gone, please say, what do ye think he wants of them 
men ? 

Nimrod. Wants ? faith, and he wants them for noth- 
ing at all, at all, but to carry um back to the ould world 
and to murther um. They were honest judges; did 
right. And bad luck to the blackguards that's now 
here, after seeking their blood. 

Margery. Well, they need n't come here to New 
England thinking they are going to carry away those 
noble, venerable judges. If the king's officer comes 
here again, I'll show him the butt eend of a broom- 
stick. Out from my brass kettle I '11 give him a dashing 
dose from a ladle of hot water. He may be permitted 
to rest his carcass 'neath some rude wigwam, for a while, 
but not long inside of mine, I '11 tell him. 

Nimrod. Rumors have come, there 's to be a grand 
council of war by the tribes in this wilderness. Fears 
we have, they are meditating a conflict with our feeble 
English settlements. A fugitive Indian, from a wigwam 
not far away, brings this news. Ah, here he comes, 
with an attendant. 

{Enter Kianemo, with Leonora, the squaw sachem of 
Wachusett, at his arm.] 

Kianemo. Lady squaw, me glad to meet you agin. 
Long away have I been. Have hunting-grounds in 
island, yonder, down behind big mountain. Rivers 
there, — bright, far-spread-out lakes. Good hunting; 
big bears and beavers there. Trout, shad, salmon 
there. Me get good living; me be happy, had you 
there. 

Leonora {squaw sachem). Oh, me no go. Me have 
much land, mine. Oh, na, na, nah. 



232 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Kianemo. True ; but not so much good fishing, not 
such good hunting-ground. And ye be most alone, and 
me be alone, too, down there. 

Leonora. Me have good hunting-ground, fishing 
enough. Me raise corn and beans, and gather clams 
at seashore. 

Kianemo. Say, Leonora, will ye not be my squaw, 
me would go or stay ? Me would build new wigwam ; 
me hunt, me fish. Me would go or stay. 

Leonora. Ah ! nah ! nah ! Ye no brave at all. You 
be squaw. Ye never took a scalp, never killed a coon, 
no grizzly bear, never robbed an Englishmen, nor stole 
a pig, ye no kill a man. Nah ! nah ! Ye no brave ; ye 
be nothing but a woman. I '11 no marry ye at all. 

\Exit Kianemo. Enter Officer. 

Officer. I want Kianemo ; have a warrant against 
him, that I may have him before the great council of 
the tribes on the charge of having murdered a Creole. 
Where is he ? 

Leonora. Me don't know ; been here ; gone now. 
What murder ? What big wrongs have he done ? 

Officer. Wrongs? Why, in these papers he is 
charged of murdering an Englishman, and of robbing a 
chief of the tribes. I want his body, that I may have 
him before a jury, formed of the council of the English 
and Mohegans, now in session. 

Kianemo {entering from behind a screen, now stand- 
ing forth, exclaims) : Is it Kianemo's life you seek ? I 
am Kianemo. I am at your call. If the taking from 
the wigwam what was mine own be robbery, then Kia- 
nemo is a robber. If the slaughter of an Englishman 
who is trying to slay me is murder, then Kianemo is a 



THE REGICIDES. 233 

murderer. I am Kianemo. Take me ; I am ready for 
the trial. Adieu, Leonora, adieu. (Leonora embracing 
him.) Let me go, Leonora. Me will meet um. 

Leonora. Go, Kianemo, go try um. Me with you. 
Yea, I will be thine. (Officer forcing him away) 
Thine, Kianemo, thine (holding up both hands). 
[Music] 

Scene III. — A hamlet and log church. Present Leo- 
nora and sailor. 

Nimrod, Leonora, what luck ? and faith and what 
are they being about doing with Kianemo, ye brave, yr 
sweetheart, ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Leonora. Me know not. Court refused me a place 
there. Great cowards, they. No decent ; mean. They 
hold up tomahawk and hatchet gainst me. They push 
me out. 

Nimrod. What, Leonora, did Kianemo do ? 

Leonora. He say. Ha! he only stole a turkey 
gobbler, and murdered an Englishman. 

Nimrod. Is that all ? Then, and faith and by the 
howly St. Patrick, they can never harm a hair of his 
head. For he niver would steal a gobbler unless he 
were hungry, and as to a bloody Englishman everybody 
knows he ought to be killed. Fear not, Leonora, your 
brave Kianemo will be acquitted, and will again come 
back to ye. Ah ! here 's a stranger. 

\Enter Goffe, cautiously. 

Goffe. Be not disturbed, my friend. I merely desire 
to inquire of you the way to Hadley, a small hamlet not 
far away from here. 

Nimrod. Indade, it 's not far away, and faith, I would 



234 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

be pleased to go and show ye to it {going and pointing 
the way). Turn there to the right, and sure ye '11 be 
right strait going to it. 

Leonora. Nimrod, who is that old man ? He be a 
judge, me think. 

Nim7'od. Whiste ! whiste, I say ! Betray him not. 
And, sure, he is a judge. He 's one of the Regicides. 
Coy he is. He keeps well aloof from the king's offi- 
cer. Whiste ! say nuthing. 'T would be bad luck to 
ye to betray him. 

Leonora. Good ! good ! He be a brave, save him. 
Me hate the king. He much tyrant, much bloody. 

Nimrod. Not a soul of us here are loyal to. the king. 
Tyrants have no place in this, our howly New England. 
The king is the beast of a tyrant, and the son of a 
tyrant. Our settlers are more loyal to the great Crom- 
well, now dead, than to that beast of a king. Charles 
is a royal blackguard, and he 's about beheading every 
honest judge he can catch. This man Goffe and his 
companions are threatened of the king's axe. Being 
pursued here, they hide away, seeking concealment. 
They are at Hadley ; but hould on, don't ye tell it. 

Leonora. The Regicides be brave. Me friendly to 
um, but no friendly to the king. Friendly Indians all 
friendly to Regicides. But Philip's tribes, hostile, would 
kill um all. \E?iter Sagamore Sam.] Here comes Sam. 
Come in. What news, Sam ? What news do ye bring 
from the trial of Kianemo ? 

Sa7n. Jury good. They no find Kianemo guilty. 
He '11 get away ; Englishmen mad. They '11 try to 
shoot him {looking out in the distance). Ah, he runs ! he 
runs {holding up hands). 




gkep:nwuud gkuve, 



THE REGICIDES. 235 

[Gujts are exploding^ blazing without at Kianemo, as 
he leaps away hack of the screen^ afid Leonora, with both 
hands uplifted, is on tiptoe in ecstacy^ 

Scene IV. — Near a log church in Hadley, 
Leonora (singing) : — 

Kianemo is brave, Kianemo is free, 
Kianemo is mine forever to be; 
He will find me again in the wild shady grove, 
And again will I greet him in the glories of love. 

{_Enter Nimrod, listening. 

Oh, the brave man, how noble in action of heart. 
When from truth and the right he doth never depart, 
When in faith and with vengeance he battles the wrong. 
In the transports of loveliness equally strong. 

Kianemo is brave, Kianemo is free, 

Kianemo is mine forever to be ; 

He will find me again in the wild shady grove. 

And again will I greet him in the glories of love. 

Sam. Me right glad, Leonora, to find ye so happy. 
Me rejoice that Kianemo get away. But I Ve now 
been hearing much, much of war, — how Philip, our 
king, everywhere is burning down cots in the settle- 
ments, and murthering the English. This day morning 
Deerfield was destroyed, and soon they '11 be breaking 
in somewhere else. See there (pointing his finger), 
Puritans have to carry their guns to their church. 

[Armed men, with women and children^ a7-e passing, 
one by one, into the door of it.'] 

Leonora. You, Nimrod, be peaceful; You no do 
anything against the English. Ye would no help Philip, 
and ye would not betray that dear old judge, the Regi- 
cide. He be hid, me guess, about here somewhere. 



236 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Concealed, he be safe, me hope. Whether in some 
cabin or in some old cave me know not. But heed ye ! 
he must not be betrayed. 

Sam. Oh, na, na ! me no betray him. He good 
old friend. This be Hadley's day of fasting, from fear 
of Philip's tribes. His warriors not far away now. 

Leonora. But what if they should break in upon us 
now ? We are in peace with the English settlers, and 
if they come to conquer us, what should we do ? 

Sam. Oh, then me run. Me hide away. You, being 
squaw sachem, they no hurt you. Ah ! there, they 've 
come. {A cry without^ ^'' Fire ! fire !'^ and a rush 
is made ; a?id without an Indian war-whoop is heard, 
with a great noise^ 

All. Wo-ach ! wo-ach ! ha, ha, ha ! Wo-ach ! wo-ach ! ha, 
ha, ha ! Wo-ach ! oh ! wo-ach ! {As they near the church, 
skulking hither and thither, the church people turn upon 
them, advancing with loud explosiofis of shotguns, afid 
with vociferous imprecations, when Goffe, emerging from a 
cabin cellar, takes to the lead of the Puritans.) 

Leofiora. Oh, they '11 kill us ! they '11 burn us ! 

[Screaming, she dashes beyond the screen, 

Goffe (seen without, in his white locks, being heard 
within). Villagers, move forward ! follow me ! (and 
with repeated discharges of musketry and pistols, and with 
great tioise of men and women, the tribes are driven out of 
sight, with repeated shouts of^^ Shoot um! drive the devil- 
ish murderers I drive um into the sea I Drive um where 
the devil drove the hogs "). 

\Curtain^ 



THE REGICIDES. 23/ 

Scene V. — Same. Villagers returned and returning 
from the fight. 

Old Israel. Well, the scamps did n't do as they 
meant to do. My ould firelock blazed well. She 
didn't miss fire. I levelled upon um, and zounds ! how 
they did heel it. 

Sam. Yes, faith, and sich a getting down-stairs as 
they leaped away adown that ledge, head foremost ; and 
away they went, piled up — 

Tim. One of um dropped a tomahawk, another a 
scalping-knife, another a gun. Here they are {holding 
them up). 

Tom. Old Bampico ; indeed how that ould devil was 
discomfuddled. How he flared up when I hit him over 
the back of his cocoanut with a club. So he sneaked 
away, kinder agitated. 

Noah. One of um shot an arrow at me, and I let 
blaze at him and he went tumbling over backwards, for- 
getting his poor relations, just as if a mule had saluted 
him with both hind legs. 

Nathan. The heavens ! just when on the run my old 
blunderbuss, blazing with fire and smoke, went off. 
The charge went right against the hinder parts of that 
bloody old chief, and over he went headlong. 

Deacon Drown. All over the village the bloody 
beasts made an attack at the same time. They seemed 
in a hurry, driven many ways, setting fires. And didn't 
we rout um ? 

But now it is meet that we return to our sacred Puri- 
tan altar. Thankful may we be to our King of Kings, 
and Lord of Lords, for this our safe deliverance. 

[Exeunt. Enter Leonora and Nimrod. 



238 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Leonora. Nimrod, in this battle me thought it best to 
take no part. Indians my friends, so be the settlers. 
For Philip's crew me have no concern. Me think of 
another. Me fear for me brave Kianemo. Nimrod, 
have ye seen or heard of him ? Me never have seen 
him since his trial and escape. 

Nimrod. Nay, and faith, and I believe he safely 
escaped ; and sure he wouldn't dare to be in the fight, 
for either side would kill him dead. But to what tribe 
he fled, or whether he be still secreted hereabouts, me 
don't know, can't tell ye. 

Leonora. Kianemo be too brave to hide away. His 
arm be too strong to feel weak at sight of murderers. 

Nimrod. Where do ye think Kianemo may be ? 

Leonora. Ah ! how is it, do ye ask where ? He be 
in deep woods, pursues the wild deer in the moun- 
tains. 

Nimrod. And faith, nor the devil of a deer does he 
pursue in the mountains. Ah, ha 1 the dear that he 
pursues is niver a bit so far away ; ha, ha, ha ! It 's 
Leonora. Yes, dear^ she is dear enough. 

Leonora. Oh, no, me refuse him. Me now sad 
because me offend him, I fear. Guess he knows me 
not to be here. He may be wandering, looking for me. 
He valiant and noble. Kianemo be near me at night. 
He in me thought, in me heart. Me fear him dead. 

Nimrod. Never mind, Leonora ! never mind ! Kia- 
nemo must be still alive ! True, and the bloody mur- 
therers shot at him. But faith, they never a one of 
them hit him. And 't was me that upon a horse saw 
him as valiantly he flew away from the blackguards out 
of sight unharmed. Me own guess for it, and sure he 



THE REGICIDES. 239 

is somewhere in these hillsides, still loving and still 
saking his dear Leonora. 

Leonora. Oh, then, me will wait. Oh, Kianemo, 
Kianemo {breaking into a sojig, gazing into the moun- 
tains) : — 

My heart shall leap with joy serene, 
To hail thee here at morn or e'en, 

In manner most becoming. 
I '11 make the wigwam wild with flowers, 
I '11 know the very midnight hours, 

Still waiting for thy coming. 

Up to that promised bridal day, 
My soul transported wings away, 

To my beloved alone. 
For him, for me, what joys to come. 
To meet for aye, to be but one ; 

Then shall my cares be gone. 

[Musicl 

Scene VI. — Same. Near the Wachusett Mountains. 
Present, Gaffe and Whalley ; and Dixwell approaching 
a wigwam. 

Dixwell. Good cheer, my companions, good cheer. 
But are we safe in these mountains ? 

Goffe. Oh, yes ! There are no English settlements 
near us. The king's constables can never find us in 
these woods. We 've heard of him only occasionally 
through the friendly Indians. Surely, the constable will 
never seek these brambles. This New England wilder- 
ness is much too dark for the royal eyesight. Indeed, 
its pathways are much too rugged for the silver slippers, 
or for the foolhardiness of a king's constable. These 
bramble mountain passes, oft troublesome to the hun- 



240 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

ters' hounds, shall serve to endanger the royal dogs ot 
King Charles. Sure, the king's cowardly constable will 
never have the courage to penetrate this, so dark a 
wilderness. If he does, in the faith of God, and in my 
own strength {brandishing a pistol)^ he shall be my dog 
and my victim. 

Dixwell. Since here, we have traversed the terri- 
tories of Canonicus, of the squaw sachem of Wachusett, • 
and of Hadley. The tribes are friendly to us. Even 
the royal settlers having hearts of men would conceal 
us. Cautious, we must henceforth live concealed. 

Goffe. Concealed ; save when war invades or endan- 
gers us. As here in Hadley, when we volunteered to 
aid the church-going settlers against the invasions of 
Philip's tribes. 

Whalley. Yes, Dixwell, let me add a word ; let me 
tell ye as how our Brother Goffe, hidden at Hadley of 
late, came forth and heroically opposed the invasion of 
blood-stained savages, and, leading the Puritans, drove 
the tribes out of sight. And then how at once his old 
white locks disappeared into a cellar out of sight, and 
how at length to this hour the settlers have thought 
him to have been an angel sent of God to their deliver- 
ance. 

Goffe. Ah, mayhap, it v/as an apparition, from their 
more immediate friends, the departed Pilgrims. \Exit. 

Dixwell. More likely it may have been the ghost of 
King Charles I. upon a flying visit to his venerable 
judges. Indeed, it would be doubtful if even here he 
heard any good of himself. But who comes ? \Enter 
Leonora.] Lady, thou art, as I am impressed, the 
squaw sachem of Wachusett. 



THE REGICIDES. 24 1 

Leonora. They call me so. Me own these lands, 
and me live in these mountains. 

Goffe. Well, then, as I opine, this wilderness being 
thine, you have a strong influence over the tribes and 
with the English settlers in this new world. 

Leonora. Me have lived with English at peace, but 
have no good will for the angry tribes of late King 
Philip. 

Goffe. Ah ! and this is where and why you are a 
friend to us ; and now that we are accused of being 
regicides, wandering here for dear life, may we not, 
Leonora, seek thy protection ? 

Leonora. Whence have ye come? And why does 
King Charles seek to kill thee ? 

Goffe. We three, as they call us, are Regicides. For 
seven long years we were friends and adherents of 
Oliver Cromwell. Believing in him, we were appointed 
and sat among the fifty-seven judges who condemned 
King Charles I., the present king's father, to be be- 
headed. For all that seven years England had its 
best government. But Cromwell died. Since then 
the second Charles has been crowned; and now he 
is seeking the lives of us all, the judges who sat in 
judgment against that old king and tyrant, his father. 
Many of the judges, our brethren in London, have 
already been beheaded. We have fled. We are here, 
and the king's constables are on our track, doubtless 
somewhere about in this wilderness. Here we are, 
and here I am now, dear Leonora. Will you find me 
some place where I may be at peace and in entire 
safety ? 

Leonora. Me will try; ye will please follow me. 



242 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

(And she conducts him through a door into a cellar of her 
wigwam, and returning) : \Enter Kianemo.] Oh, my 
dear, dear Kianemo ! {embracing him) Now tell me, 
tell me, Kianemo, where ye have been, and how ye 
have fared ? 

Kianemo. Ah, the murderers did seek me life. But 
me took flight away, away off. Now me life be safe, me 
have come back. Me love thee, Leonora. Me seek a 
new wigwam with thee. 

Leonora. Nay, not now. Me tell you a story, a 
secret. There be a brave old man, a Regicide, in there 
{pointing to the tent door). Big man, a judge, who tried 
and helped to kill a bad king. Now the second king's 
constable is in these, my own woods, trying to catch 
and kill the judges. 

Kianemo. Be there more than one judge ? 

Leonora. Yea, there be three, only one here now; 
two others somewhere in the woods. 

Kianemo. What ! in a wigwam, or in a cave ? 

L^eonora. In a cave, or in some old cot, secreted. 
The officer is hunting after the judges to carry them 
back to the big king in England to be beheaded. That 
officer be murderer. He seek blood. Go find him. 
He be spying about here. Do this for me. To do 
this, I charge thee, kill him ! kill that king's constable ! 

Kianemo. How shall me know him ? And me arrows 
all used up ; how shall me kill him ? 

Leonora. Know him ? He have blue coat, bright 
buttons. Arrows ? me get one {turning and opening the 
tent door, and bringing a pistol from the Regicides to 
Kianemo). Now kill that constable, or this right hand 
of mine shall never be thine. Kill him ! 



THE REGICIDES. 243 

Kianetno. Me will kill him ; me will give his body 
to the wolf and his soul to the grizzly bear. [Exit. 

[Enter Goffe. 

Goffe. Lady, have ye seen an English officer here 
of late, a man quite aged ? 

Leonora. Yea, me have seen one. But he is gone. 
What do ye want of the man ? Is he a Regicide, aad is 
the king's officer hunting for him ? 

Goffe. Indeed he is, my friend. I parted with him 
not far away, as he then appeared [Enter Whalley] to 
be meandering hither, avoiding detection from the 
king's forces. Ah, here is another old friend. 

Whalley. Goffe, I begin to fear for our safety in 
this wilderness. The king's constable is hereabouts. 
I got sight of him ; and I descried an Indian, who ap- 
parently was upon his track, lurking clandestinely in 
pursuit of him. 

Goffe {beckoning to Leonora). Here let me acquaint 
my friend Whalley with thee, who art the heir to all the 
lands hereabouts. We are strangers. We seek thy 
protection beneath these mountains, this lofty Wa- 
chusett. 

Leonora. What ! art thou also a Regicide ? Were you 
among the braves who have escaped to these shores, 
who long ago sat in judgment against King Charles I. .'' 

Whalley. Yea, indeed, we are the same, and we ask 
thy friendly protection (drawing his pistols). These 
deadly weapons, with which we are armed, if need be, 
shall sustain thee in our defence. 

Leonora. Protection, braves, protection ! This right 
arm of mine, the Great Spirit giving me strength, shall 
give protection to thy frosty locks. Here, give me a 



244 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

firelock {Goffe giving her a pistol, she, opening the door^ 
and secretes them also with Dixwell). There please stay 
till Leonora calls for thee. And I '11 swear to the 
Great Spirit, that the king's constable, who now seeks 
thy blood, shall bite the dust. Adieu. 
[Curtain^ 

Scene VII. — Same, Leonora at rest. Enter King's 
Constable. 

King's Constable. Are you the proprietor of this 
cot? 

Leonora. Me own it; me own these mountains. 
This be my wigwam, mine to keep and defend. 

King's Constable. But I have a warrant of power 
from King Charles. 

Leonora. And my power be from the Great Spirit. 

Constable. Mine is against the Regicides, not against 
you. It charges them of having beheaded King Charles 
I. By this {opening his paper) I am commanded to 
apprehend the three judges and convey them back to 
England. 

Leonora. Me will have nothing to do with your war- 
rant. King has nothing to do with me, me '11 have 
nothing to do with the king. 

Constable. Assuredly, my warrant from the King 
authorizes me to make search for the Regicides, Goffe, 
Whalley, and Dixwell. I demand of you to know 
whether they are, or are not, secreted somewhere here 
within your enclosure. You, I am told, are the squaw 
sachem of these lands. 

Leonora. This enclosure is Leonora's. It be her 
own castle. Over her or hers your king has no power. 



THE REGICIDES. 245 

This is Leonora's hunting-ground, not your hunting- 
ground. 'Tis the land of a squaw sachem, not the 
land of a king. 

Constable. Believing the Regicides to be here, I 
shall insist on entering your wigwam. I have a posse 
of assistants to my service. I will summon them. 

\_Exit to call them. 

Leonora. Me defy ye (raising the war whooJ>), 
Woach ! woach ! ha ! ha ! ha ! woach ! woach ! ha ! ha ! 
ha ! oh ! woach ! (Instantly a popping of infantry is heai'd 
without, Kianemo from the distance is blazing away at 
the king's constable a?id posse, and they, neari?ig the wig- 
wam, are exploding their weapons and dodging hither and 
thither.) 

Leonora (calling to the Regicides). Bring bow and 
arrows, bring weapons, bloody weapons. The king's 
posse, they be coming to kill us. 

All (answering). Oh, yes ! Oh, yes ! (leaping forth 
pistols in hand, all abreast, to the aid of Leonora^ 

Goffe. Fear not, my brave lady, we, with you, will 
take the defensive. Thou shalt not be endangered. 

Leonora. Let the tyrant come. Me '11 let daylight 
shine into him. I '11 pile slugs straight into his bread- 
basket. His body will I cut in quarters ; his heart 
shall be food for the tiger, and his blood shall be drink 
for the jackal. {Noise without, still the musketry seems 
nearing the wigwam, and she fires at him^ Ah, me hit 
him, me hit him ! Did ye see him limp ? And yet he 
lurks. 

Goffe. And to die, I hope. See (holdi?ig up his 
weapons), I 've reserved my fire. This weapon, I have 
reserved it to the use of a tyrant's officer, and to the re- 



246 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

ception of a murderous assassin in the unholy disguise 
of a king's constable, seeking blood. To take his life 
shall and will assert my own manliness. That God, 
who alone reigns in this wilderness through this queen 
of the forest, Leonora, and who is not King Charles 
{glancing upwards)^ shall strengthen this arm {extending 
it), and shall justify the deed. Hasten, Whalley! 
Hasten, Dixwell, haste ! See to it that Leonora's 
weapons, as well as your own, are well charged and 
primed. 

Leo7iora. Me kill him. Me all ready. 

\Enter Nimrod in a hurry. Noise of musketry with- 
out?^ 

Nimrod. News, Leonora, news. There be a duel ; 
terrible fight. The king's constable hath hurt Kia- 
nemo, and Kianemo hath crippled the king's constable, 
and there be others there fighting. Kianemo be in and 
out, but he be fast following um with gun and daggers. 

Leonora {extending her dagger). Then let me alone. 
I '11 kill that constable if Kianemo don't. {The consta- 
ble limping into sight, but perceivifig the Regicides armed, 
t?'ies to secrete himself, but dodges out of sight pursued by 
Kianemo ; when round they come again, and Kianemo, 
while all are firing at him, kills him ivith a dagger^ 

Goffe. Thus dies a would-be murderer. Thus let 
the wicked perish ; a tyrant's messenger seeking blood, 
let him die and slumber like a dog. Leonora, nobly 
hast thou defended thy castle ; nobly indeed have ye 
defended us. Thanks we give thee, with such rewards 
as our means will afford thee, to wit, the crown of a 
queen. {Placing it upon her head, he exclaims) : Indeed, 
thou shalt be queen of these mountains forever. Kia- 



THE REGICIDES. 247 

nemo, what do ye find upon the person of a royal tyrant's 
messenger ? 

Kianemo. Me find nothing but these papers and a 
purse of gold. 

Goffe. Give me the papers ; the gold is thine, Kia- 
nemo {returning it to him, and at the same time destroying 
the papers). Thus the king's warrant becomes as noth- 
ingness. Like unto the king's constable, let the royalty 
of all tyrants perish. In sight of this, my dear Brothers 
Dixwell and Whalley, these very men are endeared to us. 
For here is our deliverance, and here is the queen. And 
here is the gallant, the great-hearted Kianemo, who, 
henceforth, is to be the bearer of many a floweret, and 
forever {Joinifig their hands) with a valiant, truthful 
heart, is to lead our noble queen by the right hand. 
Thus, our dear queen, thou art wedded to the heroic, 
noblest Kianemo. [Regicides hand in hand, 

[Curtain slow falling?)^ 




CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAIN. 



Drama No. 5. Battle of the Busb. — Chocorua in the Mountains. 




IITHE 

(N. E.) 




S. 



^n llistortcal ©rama. 

[YEARS 169S TO 1768.] 



By ROBERT B. CAVERLY, 

Poet and Historian. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Campbell A Settler. 

Mrs. Campbell, Of the Household. 
A New England 



Eliz. Wrinkle 

Uncle Ned 
Sagamore Sam 
Blind Bill, 



Mother. 
An Old Hunter. 

Native Indians. 



robinhood . 
Liz. Tobey . 
Meiiitable . 
Mrs. Tobey 
Freeman . 
A Chief . . 
Lightfoot . 



Indian Necromancer. 
. . A Village Jilt. 
. A Country Girl. 
A Lady of Fashion. 
A Young Attorney. 
. . Of Pequakets. 
A Friendly Indian. 



ATTENDANTS. 

Chocorua, Mack, Eastman, Stark, and Jacob. 



BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY B. B. RUSSELL. 
1886. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Dawn of Peace on the Lake Shore 259 

Chocoiua,* Keoka, and their Uttle Son 251-293 

Sassacus, Philip, and Miantonimo fallen 260 

Keoka — her Truth, Death, and Burial 261 

Her Indian Boy, poisoned, dies 263 

Chocorua's Grief, his Crime, and Exit to the Mountains . . . 265-289 

LovewelPs first Fight ; his Forty Men 265-288 

Liz Tobey, the Belle of Rumford (?), and Mehitable Johnson . 268-290 

Scalps of the Tribes taken by Lovewell 271 

With Paugus — Lovewell's last Battle 272 

John Stark a Captive 276-278 

Meeting of the Lovers, Freeman, Liz, and Mehitable 279 

Murder of the Campbells • 252-289 

Ramblings in pursuit of Chocorua 290-295 

Interest of all in the Search 291-293 

Battle News from Norridgewock 296 

Rallse — News of his Death ; Chocorua slain 297 

Dying Chocorua curses the English 297 

Robinhood invoked as Soothsayer , . . . 298, 299 

Uncle Ned and Hounds, their Departure 301 

Ghost of Chocorua 300 

Major Waldron of Cocheco 255 

A Fight for a Deer-skin 277 

Addenda of Many Matters 302 

Indian Costumes 303 

Music of the Mohawks 304 

King Philip's Apparel 305 

Indian Money and their Customs 306 

Art of the Natives and their usual Apparel 307 

Indian Manners, &c = . . 308 

Wars between Themselves . • 311 

Battles, English against the Tribes 314 

Location of the Tribes 316 

Eliot among them 324, 325 

Troubles beyond the Seas « .... 318 

Indian Origin, &c 329 

Invention and Progression of the White Man, &c. . . ... . 333-24'^ 

* Pronounced Cheh-cor-u-ah. 



Copyright, 1885, by the Author. All Rights Reserved. 



BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 



CHOCORUA. 

LEGEND NO. V. 

Prior to the settlement of New England by the white 
man little or nothing is known of its history. The 
deeds, noble or otherwise, of the native Indians, as well 
as the terrible happenings of the then past, are all 
covered in oblivion. And, as appears from the date of 
the first settlements, for an hundred years its annals, as 
now recorded, are but little else than a narrative of 
conflicts fraught with thrilling incidents. 

Among the events which constitute the beginning of 
New England's history, the story of Chocorua, his event- 
ful life, his death, and the terrible curse that seemed to 
have followed his downfall, hath been made conspic- 
uous. It comes down from tradition, it has been told 
as true by Samuel Drake, by T. Starr King, and others, 
poets as well as historians. This Indian, as it appears, was 
chief of the Pequakets, who, with his tribes, wandered 
in the hills of New Hampshire during the first half of 
the eighteenth century. His wigwams, for the most part, 
stood near the north shore of the great lake ; his hunt- 
ing-grounds were vast, and the lofty mountain on which 

251 



252 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

he finally fell by the gunshot of a white man still bears 
his name. Indeed, his history is as true as it is tragic. 

This proud chief, who lived in romantic times, and 
who roamed in the wilderness of this then uncivilized 
world, witnessed in his day many a tragic scene. North 
of the Winnipisseogee was a region of country which 
was attractive to the wild hunter on account of its 
mountain cliffs, and of its limpid waters, from which a 
large supply of fish, also of bears and other wild game, 
was obtained. There this wild man, Chocorua, ruled 
and wandered with his tribes. The mountain of which 
we have spoken stands in the town of Burton, now 
Albany. 

The story of his life and departure is this : Chocoiua 
had a little son, and the squaw of his choice being dead, 
the boy was accustomed to follow the father in the 
deep forest, on hunting excursions. But the boy, being 
away from home one day, visited a white settlement, 
got poisoned, and returning to his wigwam fell sick and 
soon died. This terribly exasperated the valiant chief, 
as he verily believed the settlers had poisoned the lad 
purposely. 

Cornelius Campbell, as they say, a white settler, lived 
near there. And in the course of a few days this white 
man had occasion to be away from home. But alas ! 
On his return he was horrified at finding all his family 
dead in the cot. In due time, the family being buried 
and the neighboring settlers having united, they pur- 
sued the chief as the murderer into this mountain, and, 
seeing him upon a crag of it, hailed him and commanded 
him to jump off. " Me won't," he exclaimed, " the 
Great Spirit gave Chocorua his life, and he will not 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 253 

throw it away at the bidding of the white man." Upon 
that Campbell, raising his gun, shot him. Chocorua fell 
wounded fatally, and, while dying, he in doleful accents 
pronounced dread curses upon the English ; such a 
curse, as they say, still remaining there to this day, rests 
upon everything in and about all that region. And 
ever since that time the same dread condition of things 
has been reported, and generally credited to be the 
dire results which emanated from the dying maledic- 
tions of Chocorua. Such a curse as in another place 
we have elaborated : — 

And thus the story oft is told, 
Chocorua hateful here of old, 

Brought maledictions many. 
■ " Curse on yr white man's soul," he prayed. 
Curse on yer living and the dead. 

Nor give him gospel any." 

" Yr war-path let it lay in snares, 
Yr fields laid low of frost and tares, 

Yr pestilence supernal. 
Of crimes accursed for aye to know, 
Prompt penalties of pain and woe, 

On all yr heads infernal 1 

" Vile, heartless knaves I Ye killed my boy, 
My own Keoka's darling joy, 

Ere in the grave she rested ; 
By deadly drugs laid low he died, 
Me too ye 've slain ! let devils deride 

Ye, tortured, damned, detested. 

" Ho ! let the war-whoop lead the fight. 
The torch, the tomahawk at night, 

Yr habitations storming ; 
Drive deep the axe, the scalping blade, 
Spare never a white man, child, or maid ; 

Give carnage to the morning. 



254 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

"Great Spirit let thy lightnings flash, 
Thy fiery vengeance let it dash, 

Down where the paleface prowls,— 
On Campbell's head, on all he owns, 
Let panthers perch upon his bones, 

While hot in h— 11 he howls." 

Thus prayed Chocorua, bleeding, slain ; 
Vengeance from thence eternal came. 

Destruction dreadful, certain. 
Nay, ever since from then to this, 
Not a breath of hope, nor breeze of bliss. 

Hath moved the woods of Burton. 

Strange now in shadows stands the sun ; 
The Indian hunter's day is done, 

In these New England borders. 
A baleful shaft his heart hath broken, 
Out from the cloud the fates betoken 

Unwonted, dread disorders. 

Dark on that night and hitherto, 
The heavens let fall malarious dew, 

Far down these murky mountains. 
Of all the flowers, not one is known. 
The maple leaf is dry half grown, 

And death is in the fountains. 

The moping owl hath ceased to hoot. 
The scrub-oak falters at the root. 

And the snail is lank and weary. 
The fated fawn hath found his bed, 
Huge hawks, high flying, drop down dead 
Above that apex dreary. 

Faded the vales, no fruits adorn, 
The fields are pale with poisoned com. 

The flocks are lean repining. 
No growth the panting pastures yield, 
And the staggering cattle roam the field, 

Forlorn in death declining 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAIMS. 255 

'T is thus we 're made the slaves of earth, 
Mope in miasmas deep in dearth, 

Sad from some bad beginning. 
From cruelty to friend or foes, 
Our morbid pains and mental woes 

Prove but the pangs of sinning. 

High now a voice is in the air, 
As if Chocorua still were there, 

With wood-nymphs wild attending ; 
'T is heard far up the mountain side. 
That plaint of earth's down-trodden tribe, 

Bleak with the zephyrs blending. 

Great God, forgive our Saxon race, 
Blot from thy book no more to trace, 

Fraternal wrath infernal ; 
That taints the atmosphere we breathe, 
The sky above and earth beneath. 

With dearth and death eternal. 

MAJOR WALDRON. 

At Cocheco and vicinity in October, 1676, much 
damage had been done. An hundred Indians had 
come in there ; and half a mile above the upper garri- 
son at Salmon Falls, among other outrages, they had 
killed a man by the name of Tozer, and had taken his 
son captive, from which there was a despatch sent to 
Major Waldron, as follows : — 

"Salmon Falls, Oct. 16, 1675. 
"J/r. Richard Waldron and Lieutenant Coffin: — 
These are to inform you that just now the Indians are 
engaging us with, at least an hundred men, and have 
slain four of our men already, — Richard Tozy, James 
Barney, Isaac Bettes, and Tozer's son, — and have 
burnt Benoni Hodsdan's house. Sirs, if you ever have 



256 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

any love for us and the country, now show yourselves 
with men to help us, or else we are all in great danger 
to be slain, unless our God wonderfully appears for our 
deliverance. They that cannot fight, let them pray. 
Nothing else ; but I rest. Yours to serve you, 

" Roger Plaisted, 
*' George Boughton." 

Thereupon the Major sent twenty men with a yoke 
of oxen and cart to take away the dead bodies. Ob- 
taining a part of them, a hundred and fifty Indians in 
ambush, firing upon them, frightened the cattle so that 
they ran back to the garrison, carrying part of the dead, 
and leaving the twenty men there to fight it out. Cap- 
tain Plaisted was killed ; the others got back to the gar- 
rison, as the Indians took fright and ran away. The 
Indians then proceeded to Sturgeon Creek, to Kittery, 
to Cocheco, Exeter, Salmon Falls, Casco Bay, and to 
Wells. There, and in other places constant conflicts 
continued. Between the Piscataqua and the Kenne- 
beck upwards of fifty of the English settlers were slain, 
and nearly double that number on the part of the tribes. 

In these days rude fortifications and garrison houses 
were established almost everywhere throughout the 
settlements. King Philip having been slain ; and the 
war supposed to be nearly ended. Major Waldron of 
Cocheco, with Captain Frost of Kittery, and their men, 
adopted the scheme of seizing and making prisoners of 
all the Indians that might be induced to ccme to Co- 
checo * at their call for a great training. Accordingly, 
a proclamation for a Training having been published, on 
♦ Dover, N. H. 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 257 

the 6th of September, 1676, Wonalancet, with four hun- 
dred other Indians, were induced to assemble at Major 
Waldron's at Cocheco, and there, with the English, to 
make a military parade, and, in the end, to enter into a 
sham fight. During the exercises the Indians were 
stationed to handle the drag-ropes of the artillery, while 
the English were, of course, appointed to manage the 
guns, and the sham fight commenced. Soon a gun 
exploded towards the Indians, at which the English 
infantry, by a preconcerted manoeuvre, enclosed the 
Indians on all sides, secured and disarmed them all. 

Hubbard says: ''They were handsomely surprized," 
without the loss of any person's life, to the number of 
four hundred. They then separated the peaceable from 
the perfidious, and Wonalancet, the friendly Penacooks, 
Pequawkets, and Ossipees, were dismissed to their 
homes, while two hundred or more, having taken part 
in Philip's War, were taken to Boston. Seven or eight 
of them were hanged for supposed murders, some of 
them were sent to other parts, and a small number sold 
into slavery. This was done to prevent them from 
uniting with the hostile Indians of the East. 

But for all this at Cocheco there was a day for retri- 
bution and vengeance, from the tribes not far away, yet 
to come. Major Waldron had a strong garrison there, 
and near him were four others. In the course of time, 
on the 27th of June, 1689, Rancamagus, a Penacook 
chief, in league with others, secretly contrived to sur- 
prise and destroy Cocheco. Accordingly squaws were 
sent, two to each garrison-house, to obtain lodgings for 
the night, and Massandowet, their chief, the same even- 
ing took supper with the Major, and, among other 



258 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

things, told him they (the Indians) were coming the 
next day to trade with him, but said, " Brother Wal- 
dron, what would you do if the strange Indians should 
come ? " To which he replied, " I could assemble an 
hundred men by lifting up my finger," In the utmost 
security they, in the garrison, retired to rest ; but at 
midnight the gates were opened by the squaws within, 
and dread consternation ensued. One garrison had 
refused their admittance, and escaped ; all the others 
fell. The tribes crowded Waldron's House, — some 
guarding the doors, while others advanced upon their 
business of blood and death. Waldron then, eighty 
years of age, defending himself, drove the savages 
from room to room, until from behind him he was 
knocked down with a hatchet, and then, being dragged 
away and placed upon a table, was stripped, gashed, 
burned, and otherwise tortured, until death relieved 
him. While gashing him they would say thus : " I 
cross out my accounts." While cutting his fingers oft 
they would ask : " Now will your fist weigh a pound ? " * 

While this was being done, other savages busied 
themselves in compelling the women of the garrison to 
prepare suppers for them. 

In the garrison houses and elsewhere the inhabitants 
of Cocheco, on that night, to the number of twenty-three, 
were killed, and twenty-nine were carried away captives 
by the Indians through the wilderness to Canada, where 
some of them in the course of time were sold to the 
French. 

* In his trade with the Indians the Major was accused of using his fist 
as a weight in the scales, and of not ahvays crossing out his accounts wlien 
paid by the Indians. Caverly's Indian Wars of New England. 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — A woodland Cabin on the shore of the 

Winnipiseogee. 

Campbell. True it is, for an hundred years and more, 
dread conflicts have haunted these, our New England 
settlements. Peace now, with its plenteous harvests in 
and about us, reigns. Quietude and loveliness, like the 
sweet peace of Jerusalem, is here. Vanished far away, 
none of the tribes inhabit this wilderness save the 
Pequawkets, over whom the wild old Chocorua as chief 
wanders. Attending him daily there is the faithful 
Keoka, whom his Indian boyhood had wooed in these 
woods, on the river side yonder, not far away. Keoka 
is still with him, with a lovely little son, grown in years, 
just above the age of a papoose. His hunting-grounds 
are in the distance north, above the great lakes, in and 
about yonder mountain. [Enter Mrs. Campbell.] 
Mrs. Campbell, I was just now soliloquizing upon the 
peacefulness, and upon the present prosperity of our 
new world, anticipating sweet repose, nay, much plea- 
sure, in this rural, isolated little cot of ours. 

Mrs. Campbell. Yes, husband, I am greatly encour- 
aged to have you feel secure in life and property, now 

259 



260 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

that the great melancholy past no longer lingers heie 
to afflict us. Long ago Sassacus and his nation, falling 
at the point of an English sabre, in the dreary midnight, 
perished. Miantonimo, long ago, he also perished at 
the bloody hand of Uncas and the Colonies. King 
Philip also, of more recent fame, was hunted down and 
slain of Alderman. All, all now being dead, why 
should n't we, my dear husband, live in gratitude, hence 
to enjoy the little which seems now to have been left 
to us of rural life. Yet beware, I beseech of you, my 
dear, beware of the Pequawkets. They, though peace- 
ful now, are naught but savages. They still bear, upon 
their brawny arms, blood-stains from the veins of our 
ancestors. Fearful, indeed, have I always been, since 
Chocorua's wigwam is, as you know, so near to us. 

Campbell. That may be so, yet you will remember 
that Ralle, of Norridgewock, who long since advised 
and instigated the French and Indians to our injury, 
being slain, as well as others, we need not have further 
fears in that direction, and peace, for all I can descry, 
is ours — ours, as we may trust, forever. \Exit. From 
behind the cabin e?iters Elizabeth Wrinkle.] 

Mi's. Wrinkle. My dear Mrs. Campbell, sad news is 
at hand. Chocorua's squaw, our excellent Keoka, is 
dead and buried. 

Mrs. Campbell. Why, Elizabeth, who tells it ? How 
did it happen ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. It was very, very sudden. She 'd 
been ill only one day ; was walking around the wigwam 
but a very little time before the vital breath left her. 
Alas, how that wild old chief will mourn and miss her. 
Tears ! tears ! Chocorua loved Keoka tenderly. In 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 261 

fact, 't is of his love the poets have sung. Oh, that 1 

had memory to repeat the language itself. 'Twas like 

this : — 

A priest from boyhood brave he roved, 
Faithful at heart, lie fervent loved 

Keoka, ne'er to sever ; 
No happier pair could earth produce : 
Keoka true and a proud papoose, 

Inspired that v^rigwam ever. ' 

But alas, alas ! the tender links of love between them, 
at least for this world, have dropped asunder. 

Mrs. Campbell. True, and I well remember also 
how faithfully Keoka had always served to cheer the 
life of her dear chief, and how much she hath been 
sung for her faithfulness also. 'T was thus the poet 
honored her : — 

With truth and trust and patient pride, 
At morn, at noon, or eventide. 

She calmed the cloudy hour ; 
Her heart was full of love and song, 
She cheered Chocorua's life along. 

She brought him many a flower. 

But how, my dear Elizabeth, did the Indians designate 
the burial place of Keoka ? 

Mrs. Wri?ikle. List ! list ! In measured language of 
poesy, already foreshadowed, allow me to answer you. 

A white flag standing in the air, 

The stars of heaven shall glitter there, 

And the zephyrs long shall love her; 
Deep woodlands whispering sighs unknown, 
The plaintive pines their loss shall moan, 

Sweet flowers shall bloom above her. 

Mrs. Campbell. Ah, how truthful ! What now, my 
dear, will become of Chocorua's nice little Indian boy, 



262 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

now that its dear mother is gone ? And that old chief, 

great indeed must be his grief ! 

Mrs, Wrinkle. Yes, how true ! Now, indeed, they 

say: — 

Ten times a day Chocorua weeps, 
Ten times a day his shadow sweeps 

In plumy form around her ; 
The partridge flutters from his trail, 
The she-wolf nightly heard his wail, 

To a troubled trance it bound her. 

True, they say : — 

Where'er he turns, where'er he roams. 
Or when around the grave he mourns, 

There, prompt and true to mind him, 
That little lad with lifted eye, 
' As M to hail that mother nigh, 

Trips on and stands behind him. 

Chocorua is often at her grave. Still there he weeps. 
S^Rear slide, moving, uncovers Chocorua and his boy at 
the grave of Keoka. In tableau?^ 

Scene II. — Same. Present ladies — Mrs. Campbell 
and Wrinkle. Enter Uncle Ned and hounds. 

Uncle Ned. Ladies, I hope I have n't interrupted 
you in your conversation. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, no. 

Uncle Ned. How ? I did n't understand ye {raising 
his hafid to his ear). 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, no, I say. 

Uncle Ned. Wal, as I was going to say, an awful 
thing has happened. I mistrust it. Chocorua's boy, 
that you saw here, has fallen down, terrible sick. He 's 
vomiting and is casting up his accounts, agonizing 
dreadfully, and they say that are curse of a Campbell 




Ml 

CHOCORUA AT THE GRAVE. 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 263 

Has poisoned him. The boy was out about there play- 
ful in the white settlement, just before night, so old 
Aunt Kesiah says. And as the boy always liked little 
knick-nacks — sweet things — they gin him a dose of 
rotgut ; and faith, I believe they poisoned him a pur- 
pose. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, Lord, Lordee ! Can that be so ? 
That noble little boy, that brought the flag to the grave 
of his mother. Is he poisoned 1 Oh, how sad. But 
does Chocorua know it ? 

Ufide Ned. How } (touchmg his ear.) 

Mrs. Wrinkle {aloud). I say, does Chocorua know it ? 

Uncle Ned. He 's away now, but when he returns, 
when he finds it out, when he gets to the bottommost 
facts, somebody will catch it ; this you may well be- 
lieve. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Most beautiful, excellent boy; he 
always was so faithful to his dear mother, now dead, 
and true in life, faithful in death. Oh, he was so true 
and obedient to her, and also to his wild old father, the 
chief himself. It cannot be that a boy so noble is so 
soon to die. Oh, let heaven forbid it. 

Uncle Ned {raising his voice). Forbid! did ye say? 
By the faith of Saint Peter, the chances, according to 
my notions, are agin ye. The boy seemed to me to be 
in a fit. 'T was an awful uproar of all-overishness. I was 
down there on the edge of Bushtown when I heard the 
uproarous outcry. Old Mother Crane's cap set right 
straight back. Sal Strout ran for the Injun Doctor; 
and old Bridget Buffum hastened to the rescue with 
her apron chucked full of green arbs. But whether 
they '11 kill him, or cure him, or curse him, is yet to be 



264 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

seen. Indeed, it may be well to inquire whether it was 
the medicine that killed the papoose, or the pison. 
Wait awhile, and ye '11 see. Murder they say, always 
creeps out on all fours — 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Wait ; I '11 go. Give me my shawl. 
I '11 go down there. This news is distracting. 

Uncle Ned. What did you say ? {raising his hand). 

Mrs. Wri7ikle. I say I '11 go down there. 

Uncle Ned. Oh, excuse me. {He hastily obtains a 
shawl for her.) 

[Exit Mrs. Wrinkle. E?tter Sagamore Sam. 

Uncle Ned. Wal, Sam, what do you hear ? 
. Sa?n {loud, drawling.) Hear ? I have been told that 
Chocorua has gone away ; that he 's on a hunt towards 
the great lake. He is up there, far away, and there 's 
trouble in the wigwams. I saw up here, as I came 
along, many Injuns, lurking about in the distance, — 
fighting-men and squaws. {Loudly, in his ear.) Uncle 
Ned, what do ye think about it ? 

Uncle Ned. I had been talking with Elizabeth 
Wrinkle all about this business before you came in. 'Tis 
my belief that the Indian boy is pisoned. Our English 
neighbors seem disposed to do up business jist like that. 
They profess religion, — much more than they ever have 
got. They came honestly by their deviltry, — brought 
it with um, when they come over the sea. I 've no affec- 
tion for um. Never had any for a snake or for a sneak. 
They never can stand up straight if they try. They 're 
creepers, — they kinder crawl. There 's as much pison 
in their hearts as in their hands ; in their fangs as in 
their fingers ; and everybody knows it. [Exit. 

Sam {alone). True it be ; trouble with the tribes will 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 265 

surely return to the white man, for it be his own intru- 
sions. Englishmen be wicked, overbearing, yielding no- 
thing; not half enough. Yet he call^ it civilized world. 
Still it be a wilderness, and we be more angry now than 
before the white man came over. \_Enter Mrs. Wrin- 
kle.] What have ye, lady, to cheer us. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. No cheer. The death of Chocorua's 
favorite lad comes now to impart to us fearful sorrow. 
He has fallen, as we surmise, by force of a poisonous 
drug. The certainty of this rumor, however, will prob- 
ably never be known. The poor old chief is greatly 
afflicted. Deeply indeed will he mourn the loss of his 
darling boy. Weep sadly he will, doomed, as he is, to 
wander alone through yonder hunting-grounds without 
him. Ah, Chocorua! here he comes. \_Exit as if in 
/ear.] (^Enter Chocorua bearing a dagger., tomahawk.^ 
and scalping-knife., hesitating., appearing bewildered^ 

Chocorua {talking to himself). Hark ! me is nowhere ! 
Me in pain ! They kill me boy ! me boy ! Killed me 
boy, my boy ! Me Keoka ; my Keoka's boy ! Where, 
where, where be they (^pointing his dagger this way and 
that) ? Where be white man 1 Where be Campbell 
{brandishifig it) ? Me hunt um ! me hunt him ! me 
hunt him ! Me hunt um all ! [Ely ijig away, vociferating 
the war-whoop. He is heard in the distance : " Woach I 
woach ! ha I ha I ha I hack I woach .-'""1 

Scene HI. — Same 

Sam. Further news hath come. News, great news 
it be. It comes to this : Captain Lovewell raised forty- 
six men in Dunstable, and about three weeks ago 
started to shoot the angry tribes in the east. 



266 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Uncle Ned {listenifig). How ? What did you say ? 

Sam. I say Captain Lovewell has gone to kill the 
Indians. 

Uncle Ned. Oh, yes ! I understand. I s'pose 't is that 
same Captain who, a month ago, with twenty men, went 
off, and near a pond killed ten Injuns. The savages 
were taking a nap. I guess they 'd been on a bust, — 
busting it. Our whites pinted their firelocks each to 
his victim, took straight aim, fired, and killed the whole 
flock of um, ten in number, all told, scalped um, and 
then took for home in a hurry. 

Sam. What then ? 

U7tcle Ned. Rampant down they came to old Co- 
checo, on their way to Boston. The scalps of the cruel 
critters they piked upon poles, hoisted them to the 
heavens, and tilted um through Cocheco with a flourish 
of trumpets, just as if scalps didn't cost nothing at all, 
— and a considerable less. Ah ! how wise the old wo- 
men looked, who had seen so many on um. But the 
gals were green ; some of um fled to distraction. One 
lost a shoe, another a cap, and another her indispensa- 
bles ; and they were troubled. They had the nightmare 
terribly, all on um, night after night, for a long time 
afterwards. Only think on't, them there scalps brought 
um five hundred dollars apiece. 

Sa7n. But me hear they were the scalps of friendly 
Indjuns. Anyhow, Lovewell made money on um, — 
more, by half, than as if they 'd been coonskins. 

Uncle Ned. What ? What did ye say .? 

Sam. I said the authorities in Boston are a big 
fnaud. That they have laid aside their Bibles and 
prayer-books, and that their secret intention upon the 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 26/ 

tribes be nothing but extermination. Lovewell's vic- 
tims, I hear, were all friendly Indians. 

Uncle Ned. Wal, what of that ? What if they were 
friendly, their scalps were as good as any ; would bring 
jist as much in the market. That five hundred dollars 
apiece for um was a mighty nice price ; a tip-top thing 
for a backwoodsman. Lovewell's men went in, hard 
up, for the odd change ; and so do I. Five hundred 
dollars for an Indjun's pelt ! Five hundred dollars, five 
hundred dollars ; yes, give me that, and I'd have In- 
dian pelts on a pole, a score on um, jist in the shortest 
time ! And in faith I should n't wait, or inquire for the 
friendship of a savage. It would be all the same. The 
scalp w^ould bring just as much. We all have a kind 
of an interest in um. But it is a claim not much to be 
coveted in these settlements. I 'd like to have nothing 
more to do with the tarnal critters. I 'd gladly quit- 
claim my interest in all on um, and would make a 
mighty big discount. But as it is [Enter Mrs. Wrin- 
kle], I go in for scalps. Twenty pounds a scalp, and 
no discount, is the colonial price, and let us have exter- 
mination ; yes, extermination, — pork and beans, a 
plenty on um, old rum, onions, and tobacco. Then 
you and me, Mrs. Wrinkle, will enjoy life with the 
sweetest content. And, faith, would n't we, Mrs. W^rin- 
kle, begin the world anew .'' 

Mrs. Wri?ikle. Oh, yes ; would n't we, Uncle Ned. 
{Curtain.) 



ACT II. 

Scene I. — A Parlor in Rumford. Present Uncle 
Ned and Mrs. Wrinkle. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Well, you know old Deacon Johnson, 
who lived up here a mile or two in the country ? 

Uncle Ned. Heh {putting his hand to his ear) ? Heh ? 
What did you say ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle {loudly). Old Deacon Johnson is 
dead, — killed by the Injuns, — and his daughter, Me- 
hitable, is coming in here at Rumford, to her Uncle 
Jonathan's, to Hve. You 've seen Mehitabie ? 

Uncle Ned. Who did ye say {with ha?td to his ear) ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle {raising her voice). Mehitabie, the 
Deacon's only daughter. They talk as if she would be 
a good companion for Liz. 

Uncle Ned. What do ye say her name is ? Is it Je- 
rubabel ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle {loudly). Yes, Jerubabel ! {Aside) 
That name will do as well as any. 

Uncle Ned. Oh, yes ! Yes, I know her ; I know 
that gal right well. My word for it, she will be the belle 
of Rumford. She '11 make the wheel whirl, and buzz, 
like the tail of a rattlesnake. I 've seen her do it ; and 
you '11 believe it, it gave me a sorter glorious, sposmatic 
268 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 269 

kind of an all-overishness to hear her sing, and see her 
dance and spin. By the Father of Mercies ! if I was 
only young enough, she should be the gal for me, and 
there would n't be the least bit of a slobbering about it, 
nither. Never at all ; never at all. But you say she 's 
coming to live at her Uncle Tobey's. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. I do. She is bred to good habits. 
Her father, you know, lately left us, and it becomes 
proper that Mehitable the daughter, being left alone, 
should be properly cared for by her uncle. But how 
it will please the family, remains to be seen. His 
daughter Liz has been bred to a higher life. She 's 
fond of dress and ornaments and amusements, and 
likes the display of wealth. Not so of the industrious, 
labor-loving Mehitable. She abhors idleness ; she hails 
the early morning ; catches inspiration from the joyful 
bird ; and when night comes there is bliss in the sweet- 
ness of repose. 

Uncle Ned. I don't understand half ye say. But 
why did n't ye take Mehitable to some old farmer ? or 
to some country esquire, some doctor, or other profes- 
sional man, who would know how to api^reciate her 
industrial qualities. It 's no use to bring her here. 
It is difficult to know a fashionable gal in her full rig 
from a moping turkey-buzzard, or from a full-fledged 
guinea hen, or a shanghai rooster. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. You know. Uncle, that Liz Tobey 
has at this time no companion, save her darling lap-dog, 
no care nor amusement, save what comes from a cold, 
monotonous — " nothing to do ; " and this is enough to 
unsettle the peace of any one. {Loudly in his ear.) 
Her mother, Mrs. Tobey, as I understand, is quite 



2/0 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

pleased with the fact that Mehitable is soon to be a 
member of her family. 

Uncle Ned. Yes, mightily. But there's one that 
won't be pleased, — I '11 bet ye a leather medal and a 
tin whistle of that. 

Mrs. Wri?ikle. Ah, I know whom you mean. 'Tis 
Liz you are speaking of. Liz, as you think, will dis- 
like Mehitable's industry. 

Ujide Ned. That 's so. She 's full of flounces, full 
of flirtations. I saw her t'other day, and what do you 
think I saw of lier ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Well, what ? 

Uncle Ned. I saw her one day a-coming. She was 
a perfect bender with a big hum.p, such as the fashion- 
able trade nowadays usually make to order, — a buster 
flounced up on the parts posterior, and bordered with a 
hoop. 

Mrs. Wrmkle. Oh, yes, indeed ; I clearly perceived 
it. She wore a bender; — was kinder bent, this way 
{pending inquiringly) ? 

U?icle Ned. Yes, the brim of her cap seemed to set 
every which way. It kinder followed the pints of the 
compass — setting north, south, and all about. Her 
form was wasp-like, it looked like the little eend of 
nothing at all, kinder whittled out. The whole con- 
sarn, rigged out as 't was, was a huge bender, a sort of 
a buster — as you may say, something {imitating) like 
unto this. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. But, sir, you '11 bear in mind that the 
father is dead, that the family is broken up, and Mehit- 
able is alone. It is but charity that her Uncle Tobey 
should bring her to his own house here at Rumford to 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 2/1 

share with him its comforts. And such is the arrange- 
ment. \Curtain. 

Scene II. — A Cot near Loveweirs Pond. Present^ 
Mrs. Wrinkle. Enter Sagamore Sam. 

Sa7n. The story comes that Captain Lovewell's com- 
pany of forty-six men are on the way to duty. Long 
ago you had heard how they enlisted, and how they 
marched out from Dunstable, bearing weapons of war ; 
how they have hunted the hostile tribes far, far away, 
in the Pequawket wilderness ; and how they at one time 
slew ten of them and sold their scalps in Boston. And 
now they have gone again. There 's to be another fight. 

M}'s. Wriiikle. Yes, we had heard of their going, — • 
and this last time we hear they have been gone into the 
woods more than a month. And that same song of 
Lovewell's first fight still moves us. I was just now 
thinking of the sad story, and as how it is oft repeated : — 

"'Tis Paugus leads the Pequawket tribe, — 
As runs the fox will Paugus run ; 
As howls the wild wolf wiil he howl, 
A huge bearskin has Paugus on." 

" To him the noble Lovewell goes, 
With fifty men from Dunstable ; 
The wild Pequawket tribe to oppose, 
With war and bloodshed terrible ! " 

Sam. That be good song. We have heard of that 
tribe, and how desperately they fight from bush to bush. 
Oh, how they yelled. 

Mrs. Wrmkle. But where is that tribe, and where 
does Lovewell expect to overtake Paugus ? 

Sam. He '11 be likely to overtake the tribe at the 



2/2 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Pond not far from this, where there are good fishing 
and liunting-grounds. {Guns without^ 

Mrs. Wrinkle. All, whence that noise in the dis- 
tance ? {Enter Campbell.) Oh, I am fearful. [Exit. 

Campbell, News, terrible news at hand. Paugus 
and his tribe are at the Pond, and as Lovewell was 
moving through the woods thither, they heard a gun 
and saw an Indian alone in the distance. Thereupon, 
they threw off their clothing, their packs and other 
equipage, and marched forth to discover the enemy. 
Lovewell moved after him, but advanced in the wrong 
direction. Now Paugus with his savages, taking ad- 
vantage of Lovewell 's mistake, coming lo his path, 
traced it back to their packs, and in ambush at length, 
laid in wait for Lovewell and his company. Yes. in- 
deed, and there 's a terrible battle. 

Sam. But what did Lovewell do to the lone Indian ? 

Campbell. As I have said, Lovewell descried the In- 
dian not far away, fired at, but missed him. The Indian, 
at once returning his fire, wounded Lovewell. Love- 
well, firing back again, killed the Indian, and scalped 
him ; and now, the settlers having returned to their 
packs, there is a battle, a battle, a battle. Hark! 
{Guns exploding without^ and the war-ivhoop cry and 
much noise?) {Maj^tial music.'] 

Scene III. — Same. Cu?'tain rising discloses the fight ; 
guns exploding aftd the Indians and English driven from 
place to place, one after another in the cofiflict. Enter 
Campbell aJid Sagamore Sam. 

Campbell. See there ; Lovewell is disabled, yet he 
stands his ground vahantly {gazing at the co?tflict, poi?it- 
ing that way) . 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 2/3 

Sam. Oh see, see ! Paugus has fallen, and the cow- 
ardly rascals are flying away, away. {Much noise, yells, 
and cracking of musketry amid the howlings and tumult 
of savages^ answered by huzzaings from the English.) 

Cafnpbell. The English are leaving the ground, and 
the savages, although badly beaten, still they will have 
a powwow. 

Sam. Yes ! They '11 celebrate a victory, although 
they were the losers. English too, with their allies, 
in joyful song will rejoice, and will now join the friendly 
natives in their celebration. 

Campbell. Sad, sad, the story of Lovewell's last 
battle. He has lost his life, and all of his forty-six 
men, save that indomitable fourteen, who alone have 
remained to tell the story. Cheerily may they sing and 
give thanks, that all were not lost ; and now, with their 
allies the Mohawks, they may bury their dead, and may 
rally for the fight at least once again. Yet will it be 
with sad hearts. [Enter Ned.] Ah, Uncle Ned, how 
fare you ? And what now ? 

1/?^^ Ned. What was that you were saying {lifting 
his hand) ? 

Campbell {raising his voice). I say, what have you 
heard 1 

Uticle Ned. And faith, I hear all I can, and some- 
times a tarnal sight too much, and sometimes a mighty 
sight more than I want to hear, or that proves true. 
Now, a man up here in the woods has been telling me all 
about tliat last bloody fight of Lovewell's with Paugus, 
and how them savages laid in ambush and surprised 
him ; then how desperately they fought all day, and into 
the night ; how Lovewell, after being wounded, killed 



2/4 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Paugus, and then how himself fell ; and as how all the 
dead were left there at the Pond, upon the battle- 
ground, unscalped and unburied ; and how our Captain 
Tyng, with the friendly Mohawks, as they say, are going 
out to that battle-ground, and, as I am told, they are 
now about starting. Hark ! can it be the Mohawks ? 
(A great noise without of Indians^ and a voice ^ " We 7/ 
soon be away to the battle-ground of Paugus^) Hark ! 
here indeed comes our captain and the Mohawks. 
{Music strikes. They enter, dancing and si?igi7ig^ 

[Here the Mohawks have broken forth i?i song, and now 
with hilarity they jump forth into a war-da?ice, repeat- 
ing]:— 

" Seth Wyman, who in Wobum lived, 
A marksman he of courage true. 
Shot the first Indian whom he saw, 
And through his head the bullet threw. 
Chorus. — ' What means that dance, 
That powwow dance,' 

Stern Wyman said ; with wondrous art 
He creeps full near, his rifle aimed, 

And shoots the leader through the heart. 

" The savage had been seeking game ; 
Two guns and eke a knife he bo/e. 
And two black ducks were in his hand, 
He shrieked, and fell to rise no more. 
Chorus. — ' What means that dance,' etc. 

" Anon these eighty Indians rose, 

Who 'd hid themselves in ambush dread, 
Their knives they shook, their guns they aimed, 
The famous Paugus at their head. 
Chorus. — * What means that dance,' etc. 

" Good heavens ! Is this a time to trust ? 
Is this a time to worship God? 
While Love well's men are falling fast, 
Let tribes of Paugus feel the rod. 

Chorus. — ' What means that dance,' etc. 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 275 

\Exewit Mohawks. [Enter Mrs. Wrinkle. 

U7ide Ned. Captain Lovewell, they say, scalped one 
of the curses after he himself had been wounded ; and 
then the men proceeded to return to their packs. But 
Paugus and his tribe were there beforehand, secretly 
awaiting them in ambush. And then the battle began 
and raged terribly. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, I have been hearing of this. 
Yes ; hence it was, as the song has it : — 

" Fight on, fight on," brave Lovewell said, 

" Fight on while heaven shall give you breath." 
An Indian ball then pierced him through, 
And Lovewell closed his eyes in death. 

Sad, so it is ! — 

" And many a wife doth rend her hair, 
And many a child cries * woe is me,' 
Since messengers the news do bear, 
Of Lovewell's dear-bought victory. 

Well may they dance the powwow dance, 

With horrid yells the forest fill ; 

The bear shall hide within his den, 

The eagle seek the distant hill." 

Uncle Ned. That battle was fearfully furious. The 
Indians in the fight roared ; yelling, barking like dogs, 
and howling hke wolves. They made hideous noises. 
The emboldened English, in return, gave loud huzzas. 
They rallied bravely. 

Scene IV. — Same. Present Blind Bill and Ned. 

Uncle Ned. How are ye. Bill ? I 've been listening 
to loud music, and true, the tribes may well be called 
sweet singers. We are out now from their midst, and 
may as well as not enjoy their hilarities. I should have 
been a great singer myself, but w^as spilt in being fin- 



2/6 ^ BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

ished ; and ye '11 see the inside of my nasal organs 
was n't hollowed out right. But Bill, what news ? 

Bill. They tell me, and me believe it, the cruel 
Indians have caught and carried away the two Starks, 
Amos Eastman, and David Stinson from Penacook. 

Uticle Ned. What do ye say {brmging a hand to 
the ear) ? Do ye report that my old friend John Stark is 
killed by the savages ? 

Bill. Oh, no ; me no say it (f'aising his voice). Me 
say he be caught ; they kidnapped him, and other set- 
tlers too. 

Uncle Ned. Where did they capture chem ? 

Bill. Away up on the merry-make at Penacook. 
Have gone back with um, in the woods. That man 
Stark, he be noble, he be brave fellow. Has nice gal 
up there ; her name be Molly. Molly much worry that 
her John be taken. 

Uncle Ned. John Stark,* did ye say (raising his 
hand) ? He 's a son of Billy Stark. 

Bill. Yea, they were out hunting on the Pemige- 
wasset. 

Uficle Ned. I 've just been hearing how Stark and 
company have been caught by a tribe of ten, led by 
Moses. They seized John first, and then they waylaid 
the others at sunrise in the morning. The scamps 
killed Stinson, but John Stark will be too smart for um. 

Bill. Yes, they killed Stinson. 

Uncle Ned. Just like um. If I understand it, John 's 
good for um. He '11 give um hallelujah at the butt 
eend of the poker. 

* This was the same John Stark, of Revohitior.ary fame, who in later 
years defeated Colonel Baum at the Battle of Bennington. 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 2// 

Bill. Uncle Ned, me also hear that Colonel Tyng, 
of Dunstable, has enlisted the friendly Mohawks, and 
they are coming to join the English in going to the 
battle-ground up in the woods, at the pond. They are 
going there to take the scalps of Paugus and his tribe 
that lay dead there. \A noise without?^ Hark ! the 
Mohawks have not yet gone. They still linger for a 
powwow. They seek one before they depart into the 
woods to the battle-ground of the dead. (Enter Mo- 
hawks^ and they dance and sing in chorus : " What ineans 
that dance ^ that powwow dance ^^^ etc.) [Curtain. 

Scene V. — A woodland cot in Connecticut. Present^ 
Jacob Spalding. Enter Bill, deerski?! in hand., intoxi- 
cated. 

Bill. Jacob (hick) me want to sell you (hick) a deer- 
skin. 

Jacob. I will buy it of ye, Bill, if we can agree. 
How much do 3'ou claim for it ? 

Bill. 'T is (hick) a good one. Me wants much 
(hick) wampum for it. 

Jacob. I have no wampum, but I have a paper note, 
a tender-bill. This, Bill, I will give you for the deer- 
skin. It is good for six shillings cash. 'Tis good as 
money. 

Bill. Good (hick) as money or as (hick) wampum ? 

Jacob. Yes, good as gold {giving it to him). Now 
don't you lose it. 

Bill. (Hick) All right. It 's (hick) a bargain {taking 
it to his pocket). [Exit. Music. Be-enter Bill. 

Jacob. What now, Bill ? 
Bill. Me want (hick) me deer-skin. 



2/8 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Jacob. Begone, ye drunken scalawag ; I paid ye for 
the deerskin ; get out ! 

Bill. Ye much (hick) liar. Ye be (hick) dishonest. 
Me '11 (hick) tell the chief (hick) of it. Me chief, Saw- 
nup, will (hick) give ye a licking. Me '11 be (hick) re- 
venged, (hick), get out. \Exit. 

Scene VI. — {At a wigwam in the woods of Penacook^ 
John Stark and Amos Eastman, captives, seated 7vith 
Jndiati tribe on the ground. Lightfoot appears ; the 
chief salutes him. 

Lightfoot. Me come for white man to ask chief to 
release captives — Stark and Eastman. White man 
would pay small ransom — not much money, some. 

Chief. Me no release um ; they worth big pile of 
money; white man no pay it. Stark be brave — Injun 
have sport with him. We be now ready. Will give 
him the gauntlet. Come, braves, {beckoning the tribes) 
take places for the gauntlet. {The tribe obeys and ar- 
range themselves in two files, faci7tg each other. Stark at 
the word leaps through and through between the files of 
men and squaws, who, with loud vociferations, pick up 
and throw brickbats at hi?n, as he passes on his round, 
he occasionally and pugnaciously hitting the braves on the 
right and left as he rims^ 

Lightfoot {to the chief). Now the gauntlet be run, 
me want answer. Will ye sell um ? Will ye sell Stark 
and Eastman to white man ? 

Chief. Oh nah, nah, nah. Me no sell um at all. 
Settler no give good price for um. 

Lightfoot. Then me will go tell him. 

Chief. Yea ; tell him to send me twenty pounds in 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 2/9 

mone}', a bushel of seed corn, two gallons of rum, and 
twenty plugs of tobacco. \Curtain. 

Scene VII. — At Spalding's kitchen in Connecticut, 
Present^ Jacob at his cot. Efiter Sawn up, the Sagamore, 
attended by two Lidian braves. 

Jacob. Well, chief, what now is wanted ? 

Chief. Me want pay for the deerskins, ye took away 
from Bill. 

Jacob. I paid Bill, and shall not pay him again. 

Chiefs But ye no pay him at all; he says, you no 
pay him. We come to get pay for the deerskin, out of 
ye own hide. 
Jacob. What? three Injuns to fight one white man. 

Chief. Nah ; two only, and that be my decision, my 
order ; and that be just right. Braves ! down upon him ! 
{Here the tiuo Indians rush upon him., but he knocks 
down each as he comes, each falling and recovering, and, 
again flooring them, he gives them both a drubbing^ 

Indian {rising up and tunwig to his Chief deplori7igly). 
I 'd no idea of this. {Ejiter Ned and Wrinkle. 

Chief. Me had n't neither. Ye both be big cowards. 
Ye be nothing but women. Poor dogs ! poor dogs ! 
Me wish he 'd killed ye both. 

Scene VIII. — At Ru7nford, a kitchen. 

Uncle Ned. Well our distant neighbors are leaving 
us constantly, one after another ; some by accident, 
some by fell disease, some by old age ; and many by the 
cruel, cursed savages. But Mrs. Wrinkle, please, if you 
know, what became of that farmer's girl, Mehitable 
Johnson ? and that cousin of hers, Elizabeth Tobey ?■ 



280 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Liz is still at home with her mother ; 
and Mehitable, coming from the farm on a visit, is now 
at Tobey's also. 

Uficle Ned. Does Liz get all the jewels she hankers 
after? all the equipage she wants to hang to her? 
That gal allays reminds me of an old squaw up in 
Quampegan, who, having but one pistereen, made a 
hole in it, and hung it right on to the tip eend of her 
nose, and wore it there. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh fie, Uncle Ned ! Liz, as you 
know, is young. Her father, Tobey, was an English- 
man of wealth when he came from beyond the seas. 
He has a plenty of money, and why not let Lizzie 
indulge a little. There are young men of high promise 
who often visit her father, and no wonder she dresses 
in superb style, and has the habit of hating all plain, 
vulgar, country habits. 

Uncle Ned, I can't understand all ye say {his hand 
up), but who are the young sprouts ye are talking 
about ? Are they fit to be married ? Have they 
houses or lands ? Or are they mere dandies that dress 
like dolls, and "carry their characters on their backs? " 

Mrs. Wrinkle {raising her voice). They are likely, 
lovely young men, I can assure you. Fred Freeman, 
you know him. He, though poor, is an intelligent 
young lawyer. Law, you know, leads to honor, and 
sometimes to wealth. And there is Major Mack, he, ae 
they talk, was born wealthy, is rich in houses, horses 
and lands. These two are among the admirers of 
Liz. 

Uncle Ned. I have n't heered all, but have heered 
enough. What you say may be all true. But, let me 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 28 1 

tell ye, no wise boy of any means will ever want such 
a companion as that Liz Tobey. No man of wit will 
want a wife who has been bred in idleness as she has 
been. Idleness is sin. To be a drone, living on the 
labors of others, is to be miserable in life. No axiom 
is more true : the gods never favor anybody, save those 
who labor. \Exit Wrinkle.] But who comes ? [Enter 
Mrs. Tobey.] Oh, it is you, yourself. Well, Mrs. 
Tobey, we 've been talking about the gals. How are 
your daughters, and how is the young Mehitable ? Since 
she came from the country, how do our Rumford fash- 
ions agree with her ? Mehitable, as you know, used to 
be the gal who, as I judged, would become a queen of 
some household. I mean a woman worth having — 
not a mere butterfly, but a lady ; such as a man that is a 
man would want for a wife. 

Mrs. Tobey. As to myself I do not welcome young 
men as visitors who have no wealth. They who grovel 
in poverty may sometimes succeed as fortune-hunters, 
but {turning in disdain'] not within my doors. You in- 
quire for my family, sir; Mehitable was not one of my 
girls, you know. She was brought up in the country 
upon a farm, and having been accustomed to menial 
service, she is quite slow to forget her country habits^ 
which our ladies of fashion regard as being decidedly 
vulgar. My Elizabeth, as you know, not having been 
accustomed to the drudgery of chamber or kitchen, is 
very different. Unlike Mehitable, she belongs to fash- 
ionable society, loves leisure, and follows the fashions 
of dress, propriety, and decorum. 

Uncle Ned. Fashions, did ye say? Why should she 
care for fashions? Instead of fashions give her our 



252 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

good old country common sense, if you would prepare 
her to enjoy life's comforts. Go in for industrial eco- 
nomical labor, and in that she shall find pleasure. 
Have no outside, put-up jobs about it. Go in, indepen- 
dently, neck or nothing. Who do you think I saw 
yesterday up town ? 

Mrs. Tobey. Indeed, uncle, whom did you see ? 

Uncle Ned. I saw Sal Strout with all. her goods and 
chattels hanging about her; her left hand is alwayr 
uppermost by reason of the gilded pewter that clings t( 
her fingers. 'T was much like this {raising his finge\ 
adorned with a huge ri?ig.) \_Exit Ned. Enter Frei 
Freeman a7id Major Mack at opposite doors.'] 

Mrs. Tobey. Ah, gents (ringing a bell) ! It is long 
since we had the pleasure of a call on you, Mr. Free- 
man ; and Mr. Mack I presume you have been quite 
busily occupied of late, as v/e have not so often seen 
you. How do you prosper, sir ? I trust your good 
friends and elegant horses are all in vigorous condi- 
tion. 

Mack. Very true, madam. All in good health. 

Mrs. Tobey. And you, Mr. Freeman, as I suppose, 
are still in pursuit of the law. How long since you 
completed your studies, and how are you progressing .? 

Tred. It has been about a year. I am now advanc- 
ing with a tolerable success. How are your daughters ? 
and how is the industrious Mehitable ? 

Mrs. Tobey. They are very well, sir. They will be 
in soon. I have called them. [Enter Mehitable, 
greeting the guests?)^ Yes, here is Mehitable. It takes 
Elizabeth longer to arrange her toilet. 

[Enter Liz, greeting the guests. 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 283 

Liz. Mr. Freeman, we are very much pleased to be 
able to greet you once again. The hours have seemed 
long since your last call. 

Fred. Yes : but you will excuse my long delays, 
remembering the hinderances that beset a professional 
life. 

Liz. And you, Major Mack, as I hope are still enjoy- 
ing your health and prosperity. 

Mack. Thank you. I still try to make progress. 
I think we may all be made better by laudable efforts 
to an advancement. Now Lizzie, will you please enter- 
tain us with a song ? 

Liz. {indifferently). My music is not here, sir, and I 
am troubled somewhat with a cold. Excuse me, please 
{turning to Fred Freeman). 

Mrs. Tobey. Major Mack, please excuse Elizabeth ; 
she is quite hoarse. 

Mack. Well, then, Miss Mehitable, the music is left 
to you. What say you for a song ? 

Mehitable. Major, I fear my music, old-fashioned, 
may fail to please you. 

Mack. Oh, never mind ; we will take that risk. 

Mehitable {with music, sings) : -7- 

ROY'S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH. 

" Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, 
Roy's wife of Aldivalloch, 
Wot ye how she chated me ? 
As I came o'er the braes of Balloch." 

{Repeating the above as a chorus^ 

{Meanwhile Fred, listening, moves nearer complimejtting 
the performance with applause^ [Music. 



284 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Scene VIII. — Same. Present, Liz and Mrs. Tobey. 

Liz. Mother, why do you treat Major Mack with so 
•much attention. If you flatter yourself that I shall 
ever select him as a partner with his awkward appear- 
ance, you will greatly mistake. Let him possess an 
estate ever so large, I could never endure his presence. 
If Fred Freeman had as much property, oh, how grand 
that would be. Then I would welcome him ; and then 
all would be lovely. 

Mrs. Tobey. You ought to remember, Elizabeth, 
that the wife of Major Mack would preside at the head 
of a lordly establishment. She would be adorned with 
diamonds, and other jewels, to the very height of the 
fashion. 

Liz. All these accommodations are very fine. But 
to be tied up for life with so vulgar a personage as your 
rich major, to me it would be horrible. It would be 
worse than menial service itself, which any lady of 
fashion would avoid and [disdainfully^ detest. Oh, 
how nice it would be, if Fred had a fortune like the 
Major. 

Mrs. Tobey {breaking in.) [^«/^r Mehitable.] Eliza- 
beth you talk very improperly. Fred never can be any- 
thing to you but a common acquaintance. True his is 
a youth of good manners, but of no estate. Beware as 
to how you talk or think of him. Only think of your 
becoming mistress of a family, with only one hired 
servant in it ; to be obliged yourself to visit the market, 
to dust your own parlor, and generally to supermtend 
your own affairs. And then when your husband comes 
home at night, he in his poverty must be busied upon 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 285 

his hateful briefs in one corner, and you at work mend- 
ing old clotliing in another. [Exi'f Liz. 

Mehitable. My dear aunt, if your Elizabeth really 
loved Fred as her husband, would not the work you. 
name be pleasant to her. I am unable to see anything 
degrading in the duteous services you have named. 
Would she not desire to do it as a privilege, for one 
on whom she depends and loves? Surely would not 
true affection invigorate such industrious services into 
healthy, lovely, and nobler aspirations. 

Mrs. Tobey. Mehitable, I perceive you [Enter Liz], 
in your experience, are becoming quite sentimental. 
But you ought to know, that work would be degrading 
to my Elizabeth in the extreme. Fred might suit your 
requirement, but could never supply her demands. 

[Exit, vexed. 

Liz. Old women go in for horses, for houses, and 
lands. I go in for love and leisure, and nothing to do. 
Now, Cousin Mehitable, tell me truly, tell me if you 
think Major Mack would be even tolerable, for a 
husband ? 

Mehitable. Liz, I would n't care for wealth as you 
do. Indeed, I would rather care to be independent of 
the wealth of others. I would prefer to be the author 
of my own livelihood, the originator of my own fortune. 
A fortune obtained through my own abilities to ac- 
quire it, to me would be worth a thousand borrowed 
ones. Duteous industry, exercised in the obtaining of a 
livelihood, would ever bring to life, comfort and satis- 
faction. I would dislike to be owned as a chattel, or 
to be worshipped as such. On my own gifts of God, 
and on my own gams through a duteous labor and econ- 



286 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

omy, let me, as one of his creatures, stand or fall. 
Major Mack has a fortune already earned, and in 
person he seems quite respectable. 

Zi'z. Respectable, that may be; yet how could I 
endure such a man, riches or no riches, weakh or no 
wealth ? And as to Fred Freeman, he is as poor as a 
March rabbit. Although I intend to live without labor, 
and must have wealth and splendor, I shall never fancy 
such a numb-head as Mack is, to share it with me. 

Mehitable. Why, not, then make the common daily 
duties and exercises of life a pleasure ? Drudgery be- 
longs to the sluggard ; it rarely can be oppressive to a 
vigilant, active mind. Now, if you really love Fred, 
why not marry him ? Why not be willing to share with 
him his fortune and fame, whether in wealth or in 
poverty. Your kind offices thus bestowed would be 
shared by yourself ; it would encourage his manliness, 
and would not fail to bring to the household a corre- 
sponding delight. 

Liz. You know, Mehitable, I am independent, and, 
as mother tells me, I was never born to be a slave. 

{Exit. Enter Uncle Ned. 

Mehitable (at her duties). We 've just been thinking 
of you. Uncle Ned. * 

Uncle Ned. What do ye say? Thinking of me. 
The gals are allers a thinking of me. They 've been so 
persistent in their loves and love-pats, that sometimes 
I 've been obliged to wear a mustache made out of a 
coonskin to keep the ravenous critters at a distance. 
So many on um I can't be of " no use to um, nohow." 
Sal Strout, you know her ? The widow, I mean. 

Mehitable. Yes, I know of her. 



ClIOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 28/ 

Uncle Ned (confidingly) . Wahl, don't ye believe, she 's 
threatened to sue me for a breach of promise. But 
never mind, don't ye tell on 't. If I can, I am agwine 
to settle it with her. Don't name it. I would n't have 
my old woman — no, I wouldn't have Huldah to know 
about it, for all the whole town of Hardscrabble. 
Enter Liz.] But here 's Liz. Lady, what do ye think 
of Mehitable ? You see she 's always to work ; ye never 
see her idle. Don't tell on 't, I have taken a mighty 
great liking to that gal. 'T is a shine, as they call it. 

Liz (aside). Ah, how tiresome all this talk is. Yet 
deliver me from being doomed to the darning of old 
stockings, or the washing of dishes. I fancy I am 
bound to enjoy a much more agreeable occupation. 

Uncle Ned. Mehitable, I saw you out to-day on the 
hills taking sketches. 'T is right good for ye to breathe 
the mountain air. I '11 tell ye what, a wood-nymph 
takes solid comfort. And I see the mountains have 
painted the genuine colors of health upon that counte- 
nance you carry with ye. Yes Mehitable, you are 
young. Let me admonish ye. I believe in an honest 
heart like your'n ; and in true love — love of the old- 
fashioned kind — such as was common in my own boy- 
hood : — 

At a time on memory's page, 
When children paid respect to age, 
When the man was always saint or sage, 

And women made the matches ; 
Wealth then a beau could never catch, 
And love it was that lit the match. 

Liz, what makes ye look so pale. Come, cheer up. 
To-day I have just heard greai news. 
Liz. What is that ? 



28S BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

U'nde Ned. Why, I 've been told that Sam Simpson, 
that old miser who lived down in Hardscrabble, is 
dead. 

Liz {earnest and aloud). Indeed, is it true ? And 
was n't he the grandfather of Fred Freeman ? 

Uncle Ned. Faith, and he was; and it will turn out 
that his whole estate descends to Fred. And to so 
young a lawyer as Fred it is a mighty great windfall. 
'T will give Fred wealth, if not wisdom. In fact, Fred 
is to inherit all the lands which that old miserly curse 
cheated out of the Injuns. Fred takes all his money, 
takes Pig Lane, half of the parish at Hardscrabble, 
including all the huckleberry plains ; and besides he 
inherits all the old man's interest in the great goose- 
pasture down at Sligo. Now gals, Fred is the beau for 
ye ; he '11 be worth having. Hurrah, now, for a trial. 
Who is to be the lucky gal .? 

Liz {Jiaughtily). Ah, that is a question easily to be 
answered (tossing her head hig/i). There will be no 
great contest on that score, I fancy. A gentleman of 
Fred's wealth and rank would hardly look below his 
own dignity, below his own station in society, for a wife. 
Of course, he will act up to the dignity of his wealth. 
He will never select a low, ordinary worker for his life 
companion. Oh no, not he. [Exit contemptuously. 

Uncle Ned {aside). Wal ; her cap sets high to-night. 
I wonder how it will set to-morrow ? [Curtain. 

Scene IX. — Same. Enter Sagamore Sam. Pres- 
ent^ Mrs. Wrinkle. 

Sam. Since I was here news hath come to the Colony 
at Boston that Colonel Tyng and his fifty men, having 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 289 

arrived at the pond at Pequawket, obtained the scalps 
of Paugus and his men, have buried urn, all the dead 
ones, in Lovewell's battle-ground ; and that the Colonel 
and his men have all safely returned. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. That's right, let urn return. They 
are quite lucky, — lucky to get back unscalped. But 
have ye heard ; do ye hear how (as they say) Chocorua 
is meditating death on the Campbells, on account of the 
loss of that boy. He has long distrusted that family of 
Campbells ; has been seen lurking about that white 
man's cot suspiciously. My word for it, he has it in his 
heart that they poisoned his boy. Oh, if this be true, 
woe, woe, is to be upon them, and upon their dear chil- 
dren, if not upon us all ! 

\A cry of murder and of wailings without^ and soofi the 
curtain rises in the rear, unveiling Chocorua^ with toma- 
hawk, dashing this way and that, seeking to escape. A 
sJwt comes at /mnfrojn without^ but he escapes?^ 
\A Dirge^ 
\A slide, moving, unveils the family as slain."] 

Uncle Ned. Oh, murder, murder ! Where can he be ? 
Where has that old rascal of a murderer gone to ? 
Guess they hit him ! Guess he 's wounded ! Suppose 
the Campbells did pison his boy, he had n't the ghost of 
a right to murder that whole family. Our settlers will 
follow; they '11 hunt him down. They'll chase him by 
scores. Fled away, most likely. He '11 take to the 
mountains. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, what cruelties ! what conster- 
nation our English settlers are having ! Indeed, what 
atrocities, what terrible heart-rendings are fast coming 
to pa 5S amongst us ! They '11 hunt Chocorua, and the 



290 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Lord, the Lord only knows how many more will be 
murdered before this matter comes to an end. But who 
are these ? 

\Enter "Liz and Heritable, breathless. 

Liz. I 've been away on a ramble, following Mehita- 
ble ; and I am tired and frightened all but to death. 
We 've heard the bay of hounds in the forest, have seen 
men running hither and thither, and have heard frequent 
discharges of musketry. We 've made home here upon 
the run, and it does seem as if I should never, never 
recover my breath. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Liz, don't you know it ? the English 
have gone in pursuit after that dreadful old Chocorua, 
who 's murdered the Campbells. 

Mehitable (J)reakifzgin). O Lizzie, can it not be pos- 
sible that 3^our dear friend, Fred, has joined the com- 
pany, and gone off in the dangerous pursuit after that 
old chief ? 

Liz. Indeed, I cannot think Fred would be so for- 
getful of me, and of my feelings, as to thus hazard his 
life without notice to us of his departure. 

Mrs. Wri?ikle. Ah, Lizzie, you will find that a heroic 
young man like Fred would never wait for ceremonies, 
if summoned upon an emergency like the one which has 
brought grief and sorrow upon these settlements. \_E?iter 
Fred.] But here he returns. Fred, we 've just been 
speaking of you, and have been fearing for your 
safety. 

Fred. I started off with our settlers. We divided 
into bands ; one was to go and return by the way of the 
lake, others were to traverse the woods and the moun- 
tain cliffs, and drive the savages from thence. And, lest 







THE CONJUKOR. 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 29 1 

that old fox should take the back track, to evade his 
pursuers, it has been thought best for me to be here, to 
give the alarm should he attempt to hide himself under 
these mountains, nearer home. The scouts are in hot 
pursuit, moving in all directions. 

Liz {in flounced fantastic dress). O my dear Fred, 
remain here ; don't venture any further. Remain here 
with us. We need your protection, and there are a 
plenty of settlers in the woods, who will hunt out the 
old chief. 

Mehitahle. Yes, Mr. Freeman, take Lizzie's advice. 
Rest yourself, and gain strength for the advance to-mor- 
row, if the hunt of to-day does not succeed. 

\Enter Mrs. Wrinkle. 

Fred. My dear ladies, I cannot see how I can well 
refuse your kind invitation to remain here a while. But 
will you appease our excited minds by the use of a 
song ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yes, Mehitable ; that means you. 

Fred. Yes, Miss Mehitable, you are the queen of 
song, they say, as well as of duteous industry. Please 
entertain us with a song. Oh, yes (rising up), a song. 

Mehitable. I fear my simple music may not please 
you, sir. Would a Scotch ballad be agreeable to you ? 

Fred. Oh, yes. 

Mehitable (sings). 

ANNIE LAURIE. 

" Maxwelton's banks are bonnie, where early falls the dew, 
And 't was there that Annie Laurie gave me her promise true, 
Gave me her promise true, and ne'er forget will I, 
And for bonnie Annie Laurie, I 'd lay me down and die. 



292 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Her brow is like the snaw-drift, her neck is like the swan ; 
Her face it is the fairest that e'er the sun shone on ; 
That e'er the sun shone on, and dark blue is her eye : 
And for bonnie Annie Laurie, I 'd lay me down and die. 

Like dew on the go wans lying, is the fa' of her fairy feet, 
And like winds in summer sighing, her voice is low and sweet ; 
Her voice is low and sweet, she 's a' the world to me, 
And for bonnie Annie Laurie I 'd lay me down and dee."* 

{Meanwhile Fred^ attracted nearer to the music, seems 
entranced ; whence Liz, in disgust, contemptuously retires, 
leaving the lovers alone, full in the faith of economical 
industry and cofuiubial felicity?) 

[Curtain slow falling?^ 

* Written by Douglas of Finland, about the year 16S5. Annie was the 
daughter of Sir Robert Laurie. Annie afterwards became the wife of a 
Mr, Ferguson of Craig-darroch. 

See a Ballad Book [printed in Edinburgh in 1824], page 107. Some of 
the words, to be more clearly understood by an American audience, are here 
printed in English. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. — Tents on the Shore of the Winnepisseog.ee. 
Present Mrs. Wrinkle ajid Uncle Ned. 

Mrs, Wrinkle. It 's all up now, Uncle Ned. The 
Lord only knows how many more of us are to be mur- 
dered before this conflict comes to an eend. And what 
are we agwine to do .'' 

Utide Ned {agitated). What the devil 's the use, old 
lady, in being always fussing about these deeds of blood, 
which happen to us every day. A mighty sight you 'd 
better be seeking repentance of your sins, than to be 
forever brooding over life's troublesome trespasses, with 
that treacherous tongue of yourn. Yr tongue is hung 
right in the middle on't, and it goes clap, clap, clapping 
at both eends. \Enter Blind Bill. 

\Chocorua passes through^ stealthily. Ati alarm is 
raised without. A slide unveils a scene in the woods, — a 
cot and a garrison, with settlers at the doors, armed vari- 
ously, on tip-toe for pursuit of him?[ 

Bill. The murderer ! 't is the murderer ! Which way 
did he go ? 

Uncle Ned. Go, did ye say ? He 's gone back from 
the lake shore. Ye '11 find him hid in the dark forest, 
or in some ravine behind the rocks, or climbing the 
cliffs ; or perhaps you '11 be able to shoot him, still lurk- 
ing under the brow of the mountain. Up, and be going ! 

293 



294 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Hunt him out ! hunt him out ! But see to it that, from 
hidden ambush, he, or others, don't thrust ye through 
with arrows. (^Pointing the way.) You go this way, 
you go that way, over the highlands, northward ; we, 
the rest of us, will linger along the shore of the lake. 
He 's an old fox; when ye start him he may return, tak- 
ing the back track. Haste, now, and away ! {All 
answering at once.) Yes, we '11 away ! (and they dash 
az&ay, vociferating.^ " We^ll hunt him! We'll have 
him /") {Enter Mrs. Wrinkle. 

Mrs. Wri7ikle. Oh, how terrible, terrible was that 
murder of the Campbells. Not a soul of them, save 
the father, who was away, now lives ! Oh, what dread- 
ful cruelty lurks and rankles in the unholy heart of 
a savage ! 

Uncle Ned. But I suppose 'tis true that Chocorua's 
boy died of pison. The old chief thought the lad had 
been pisoned a purpose, by the Campbells. Chocorua 
was dreamy enough to believe they had murdered the 
boy ; so it bewildered his mind. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yes, but after all I do not imagine 
they intended any wrong to the lad. His being poisoned 
was, perhaps, nothing more than a sad accident, long to 
be deplored. But as against such impetuous barbarity, 
there seems to be no end, no respite, no relief to our 
hopeless, suffering settlements. 

\Chocoriia passes through., dodging this way and that, 
and yells a7'e again heard in the forest, by the E?iglish in 
ferven t pii rsu it.] 

Uncle Ned. They ara on the wake. They are pur- 
suing the old curse. They are up and coming. He 's 
got the start on um, yet they '11 settle him. They '11 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 295 

have his pelt ! Wonder how much money they '11 get 
for it in Boston ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, you don't know what a bloody 
hunt they are making against that old murderous chief. 
They went past old Nathan's garrison but a little time 
ago, sabres and firelocks in hand, upon the clean run, 
in the chase. They were following, driving southward 
towards the lake. {Loudly^ But Sam says the culprit 
had skulked off t'other way, towards the great mountain. 

Uncle Ned. I don't believe he '11 take to a distance, 
at all. He 's a coy fox. As he 's wont, he '11 be sure to 
evade the hounds. He '11 take the back track, I guess. 
They 're well armed, and they 've taken Bickford's spot- 
ted dog with um. He 's a hound of the first water. If 
he gets hold behind — if he gets hold of the slack — 
he '11 hold, till riie cows come home. He 's like old 
Captain Stick-to-um ; he 's a hero in the rear. {Strange 
noises and the tooting of horns without^ Who, what 's 
all that ? Hunters in pursuit ? He '11 dodge into some 
hiding-place in the mountain. Ho for the hunters ! 
they 're on his track ! Who, — what 's that ? 

\In the distance a hooting vociferously^ and sowtding of 
horns in the pursuit.'] 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yes, they are good hunters. They 
are teasing him ! They 're on his track ! 

\Still the outcry^ the sounding of horns ^ and the barking 
of hounds ?\ 

Uncle Ned. Heigh-ho ! he 's sneaking away. I see 
him, I guess I see him in the distance. They are after 
him, but he '11 take the back track. He 's a cunning old 
fox. But the king's forces are in the wake of him. 
They are in for him, straight atter him. Oh, they're 



296 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

mad, and they may well be mad. They '11 drive him out 
of the forest, straight down, down, down to — to h — 11, 
I hope. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. How sad, sad this is, that the dear 
Keoka, Chocorua's squaw, fell at the first by a pining 
disease, and that, after they buried her, under the logs 
yonder, not far away, her dear, beautiful boy soon fol- 
lowed her by a secret, deadly poison. Then, as if some 
evil spirit had ordered ii, Chocorua, as ye've seen, 
suspecting the Campbells as having poisoned his son, 
hath secretly, brutally murdered the whole family. 
Campbell himself then being away, hath now turned to 
the track, and, with Englishmen and hounds and weap- 
ons of death, they are all on the alert for Chocorua's 
life. {Loudly to Uncle JVed.) Oh dear, dear, what shall 
become of us amid all these terrible, terrible scenes of 
death. 

Uncle Ned (aside). Scared to death, old Aunt Betty 
Wrinkle, — that's you, and no mistake, — always being 
begrieved, and allers grieving. There 's no use in 
dying because all the t'others are dead. My love for my 
poor relations is profoundly sincere. But what 's the 
need of caving in .? Now I don't propose to skedaddle ; 
no, not till I get due notice from headquarters. You 
may run, Mrs. Wrinkle, you may run, but I — I — I 
— won't. [Exit Mrs. Wrinkle. 

{From without, ^^ News, news of a battle T') 

[Enter Sagamore Sam. 

Sam. Uncle Ned, have ye heard of it ? There 's 
been a battle, a bloody battle at Norridgewock. The 
English, under Moulton and Harmon, have invaded the 
Abenakies, have assailed and slain Mogg, and have 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 29/ 

murdered that old missionary, Ralle, who had encour- 
aged the Indians. The English assailed the castle, took 
his scalp, and put all his tribes to flight. 

Uncle Ned. What is that ye say Qiolding his hand, 
listening). 

Sam. They 've slain that old missionary, Ralle. 

U?icle Ned. Wal ; that 's great news. Enough for 
to-day. Wonder how much pewter they '11 get paid for 
the scalp of a missionary ? Indeed, they '11 have extra 
for that, and they '11 be entitled to it. Sure, the scalp 
of a head as mellow and as wicked as Ralle's was, will 
never be a drug in the Puritan market. I reckon 
't will be just about equal to a coon-skin, half-tanned. 
\Curtain?\ 

Scene II. — Same. At the brow of Chocorua Moun- 
tain. 

Outsiders {exclaiming). Oh, there he is, there he is on 
he crag ; jump off there ! {Barking of dogs without.) 

Chocorua {from the crag, afiswering). The Great 
Spirit gave Chocorua his life, and he '11 not throw it 
away for the white man. {Musket shots are heard from 
without; atle7igth curtain rises unveiling Chocorua wound- 
ed, cursing, and settlers with firelocks and other weapons, 
who had followed in pursuit of him,) 

Chocorua. Curse on yr living ! Curse on yr dead ! 
Yr warpath, let it lay in snares ! Blast, blast yr fields 
in frost and tares ! Pestilence eternal, on all yr heads 
infernal ! Ye killed my boy ; me too ye 've slain ! Let 
devils deride ye, torture ye, damn and detest ye ! 
[Enter Mrs. Wrinkle.] {Staggering, he swoons and 
falls.) [Dirge. 



298 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 



Scene III. — Same, 

■Mrs. Wrinkle. O Lord have mercy, mercy on our 
afflicted English settlers. God only knows what trou- 
bles, what trials, what dearths, and what deaths shall 
henceforth follow on to us. The dread vengeance of 
Heaven, which has been evoked upon the heads of our 
own race, in this our New England, is threatening us- 
Oh, I fear, I fear it, near at hand. [Enter Robinhood.] 
And here comes our native soothsayer, the interpreter. 
Oh tell us, tell us, Robinhood. What, what is to come 
next, from all, all these signs ? 

Robinhood. Signs ; signs there be. Sure signs, from 
the Great Spirit they come. Me see um ; me that 
can hold converse with the dead ; me that can foretell 
events, ye ask me questions. Me that can take the 
rattlesnake in the hand without harm (holding a snake) ; 
me that can have talk and help from the Great Spirit, 
do ye ask me ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yea ; what mean all these gloomy 
signs ? 

Robinhood. You mean this strangeness in the sky, 
in the cloud, in the air, and in the earth ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yes. 

Veiled now in sackcloth stands the sun, 
The Indian hunter's day is done, 
In these New England borders ; 

Robinhood. Indeed 

A deadly shaft his heart had broken, 
High in the cloud the fates betoken, 
Unwonted, strange disorders. 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 299 

Mrs. Wrinkle. But what the dangers ? what are the 
disorders to be ? 

Robinhood. Ah, they be none other than that which 
the Great Sagamore hath called out. Such as be seen 
in the warpath when the wrath of the Great Spirit have 
come, and the lightnings above have flashed over it 
with fiery fagots. [Thunders in the distance muttir?^ 
Ah, Abamoco have heard the great chief. His voice 
there, his vengeance still there (^pointing his finger) com- 
ing in the cloud {still pointing)^ away up yonder. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. But tell us, Robinhood, whence this 
power in the old chief, now that he is dead, to bring 
dismay .'' Whence these threatenings which create 
painful tearfulness in the midst of these our lonely 
settlements, and all along beneath yonder bleak moun 
tain. 

Robinhood. Me no tell ye more {winds whistle, a 
tempest, and thunders mutter^. Me have told it; me 
see it {pointing, gesticulating). Abamoco noisy; Aba- 
moco mad. He's in the sky; he's in the pisoned, 
putrid air; in the cloud. Yes, 't is Chocorua's curse 
{rattlings of hail, lightnings, and thunder). His curse 
upon the white man comes. {A slide moving unveils 
poisoned, frost-bitten, blighted fields, pale, and sickly 
trees, and vegetation, lean, decrepit cattle, sheep and horses 
moping hi despair). 

Robinhood. Ah, it be so — a curse, a curse upon 
ye. Me told ye of it. 

Mrs. Wrifikle. You ought to have been there and 
heard Chocorua in all he told to the English. So loud 
he cursed them. Hark ! {Hoarsely behind the curtain, 
and but little seen, a ghost appears^ 



300 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Chocorua^s ghost 

Vile, heartless knaves, ye killed my boy, 
My own Keoka's only joy, 

E'er in the grave she rested ; 
By deadly drugs laid low he died, 
Me too ye 've slain, let devils deride, 

Ye tortured, damned, detested, 

Mrs, Wrinkle {the scene darkens^. Oh, a ghost and a 
curse, the curse of Chocorua. — How dark it is ! 
There 's a chill in the air ; there 's frost in these veins. 
Hark ! those accents are fearful. Though unseen, 
indeed, it is the ghost of Chocorua. 

Ghost. 

The moping owl hath ceased to hoot, 
The scrub-oak falters at the root, 

And the snail is lank and weary ; 
The fated fawn hath found his bed. 
Huge hawks high up have fallen dead 

Adown the apex dreary. 

Robinhood. Indeed, Mrs. Wrinkle, this is the curse 
of Chocorua. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yes. 

Fated, the fields no fruits adorn. 
The hills are pale with poisoned corn, 

The flocks are lean, repining ; 
No growth the panting pastures yield, 
And the staggering cattle roam the field. 

Forlorn, in death reclining, 

Robinhood. Me be necromancer; me told ye 'twould 
be so. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Indeed, so it is, so it is, as 't is said. 

Thus are we made the slaves of earth. 
Mope in miasmas, deep in dearth, 
Sad from some bad beginning ; 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 3OI 

From cruelty to friend or foes, 
These morbid pains and mental woes, 
Prove but the pangs of sinning. 

Search now for the flower, not one is known, 
The maple leaf is dry half grown. 
And death is in the fountains. 

{Lifting both hands.) 

O God, forgive our Saxon race, 

Blot from thy book, no more to trace, 

Fraternal wrath infernal ; 
That taints the atmosphere we breathe, 
The sky above, and earth beneath, 
With dearth, and death eternal. 

Uncle Ned. Yea, oh yea, 't is here ; Chocorua's curse. 

The curse is here, and a devil of a curse it is. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. 

High now a voice is in the air, 
As if Chocorua still were there, 

With wood-nymi^hs wild attending ; 
Hark ! hear it afar on the mountain side. 
The plaint of earth's down-trodden tribe. 

Bleak with the azure blending. 

{Hounds in the distance^ 
Uncle Ned. 

Come boys, we '11 take our tents away, 
To better vales, 't is break of day, 

The hounds are awake for duty ; 
Blow, blow the horn ! a gracious sun 
Hath brought a brotherhood begun, 

In life, in love, and beauty. 

\Curtain descends amid the blowing of horns ^ answered 
by the dogs?^ 



BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 

PRIMEVAL, MODERN, AND PROGRESSIVE. 

In "Jossely's Voyages to New England" he says: 
" Prince Philip, a little before I came from England to 
Boston, in 1671, had a coat on and buskins set with 
beads (wampum), in pleasant, wild works, and a broad 
belt of the same. His accoutrements were valued at 
twenty dollars." 

Mrs. Rowlandson, as a captive, discoursing of Quin- 
napin, her late master, says, — 

" Quinnapin was dressed in a Holland shirt, with 
great stockings, his garters hanging around with shil- 
lings, and with girdles of wampum upon the head and 
shoulders." 

That Weetamoo (for a dance) " was dressed in a ker- 
sey coat, covered with girdles of wampum from the 
loins upward ; that her arms, from the elbow to her 
hands, were covered with bracelets ; had handfuls of 
necklaces about her neck, and several sorts of jewels in 
her ears. She had on red stockings, white shoes, her 
hair powdered, and face painted red, which always be- 
fore was black. That all the other dancers were dressed 
after the same manner." 

303 



304 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

"Usually the dress of the women consisted of two 
articles ; a leather shirt, or undergarment, ornamented 
with a fringe, and a shirt of the same material, fastened 
around the waist with a belt, and reaching to the feet. 
Their hair they dressed in thick, heavy plait, which fell 
down upon the neck. They sometimes ornamented 
their heads with wampum, or with a small cap." 

MUSIC OF THE MOHAWKS. 

" At a dance, sometimes, there were two " outsiders, 
*' singing for the dancers, and playing upon a kettle, 
sometimes hopping up and down, sometimes taking a 
drink of warm water at the fireside, and now and then 
throwing out a compliment of wampum to the by- 
standers." 

INDIANS MEETING THE PILGRIMS, 
1622. 

Every man of them, it is said, was clothed in a deer- 
skin, and the principal of them had a wild-cat skin, or 
such like, on one arm. 

Most of them had long " hozen " up to their groins, 
close made, and about their groins another of leather. 
These, altogether, were like the Irish trousers. 

COMPLEXION. 

"Their appearance was like our English Gypsies. 
No hair, or very little, on their faces. On their heads 
long hair to their shoulders," cut only on the forehead. 
Some, however, were trussed up before, with a feather, 
broadwise, like a fan. One had a fox-tail hanging out. 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 305 

Their bows and arrows were not always kept with 
them. They sang and danced to the Pilgrims, after 
their manner, like antics. 

Philip's belts. 

After the killing of King Philip, in 1676, it is said, 
Annawon, one of his men, meeting Captain Church, ad- 
dressed him thus : " I believe me and my company are 
the last that war against the English ; so I suppose the 
war is ended by your means. Therefore " (from a pack) 
"I give ye this belt, beautifully embroidered, which be- 
longed to King Philip." " It was nine inches in breadth, 
and of such length as when put about the shoulders of 
Church it reached to his ankles." " It was reckoned 
to be of great value, being embroidered all over with 
money, that is, wampumpeag of various colors, curi- 
ously wrought into figures of birds, beasts, and flowers." 

Philip had another "belt, with which he used to orna- 
ment his head, from the back part of which flowed two 
flags, which decorated his back ; and then there was a 
small one, with a star upon the end of it, which he wore 
upon his breast. All three," it is said, "were edged 
with red hair, and were obtained from the Mohawks. 

INDIAN TASTE. 

The natives are noted for their strong propensity to 
gorgeous personal ornaments. But now, in civilized 
life, all show of wealth is to be regarded as vulgar. It 
is related of an Indian squaw, although otherwise pen- 
niless, having but one pistareen she put a hole through 
it, and hung it to the end of her nose, as an ornament. 



306 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 



INDIAN MONEY. 

It appears that " the English merchant giveth them 
(the Indians) ten shilUngs a fathom for their white, and 
as much more, or near upon, for their blue beads." 
''These beads are their money. Of these there are 
two sorts, blue beads and white beads. The first is 
ihe'ir go/d, and the last is their silver. This money they 
work out of certain shells." "They grind the shell 
upon stone, so cunningly that neither Jew nor devil 
can counterfeit it." They drill the beads at the size of 
a pipe-stem, and four or five of them make an inch. 
They string them, and make curious works with them 
to adorn the persons of their sagam.ores and young 
women, such as belts, girdles, tablets, borders for their 
women's hair, bracelets, necklaces, and links to hang in 
their ears." As money, it is called wampum ; some- 
times " peak." 

INDIAN HABITS AND CUSTOMS. 

Indians, as did all other nations of the earth in the 
beginning, roam in tribes. Mere hunters and wander- 
ers, they, from day to day, seek a livelihood at the sea- 
shore, on the lakes and rivers, and in the wilderness, 
where the salmon or the shad, or the beast or the bird, 
may best be found to supply their constant cravings. 
Their labor is but little, and that labor is, for the most 
part, performed by the women. They never had any 
written history prior to the advent of our Pilgrims. 
Their historic memoranda were confided to the retentive 
memories of their women. The braves made their 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 307 

treaties, they did the talking ; and to the squaws were 
usually confided the task of remembering all that was 
said and done. Thus they, in the main, held the history 
of treaties and of other events. 

INDIAN ART. 

His wigwam, his wampum, his mortar, and his battle- 
axe made of stone, were samples of his best skill. 
His paintings were extravagant and gaudy, his colors 
brilliant. The flesh side of the skins of beasts were 
generally taken on which to do their painting. They 
spotted their work in curious fantastic hues, and often 
with strange colorings, such as none but a wild man 
could make, contrive, or invent. They knew but little, 
and sought inventive improvements in nothing. 

CLOTHING. 

Douglas, our first writer in New England Indian 
History, says, our Northern Indians at the first wore 
skins of seals cut in different ways and sewed together 
with thongs. They had no threads of flax or hemp. 
That in other parts of the country they usually wore 
skins variously from beasts of the forest, that after the 
first English settlements had been made, they, for the 
most part wore duffels and blanketings about two yards 
square, which the Romans would have denominated 
"togas ; " that their sagamores or sachems usually wore 
blankets with borders of different curious colors. 



308 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

INDIAN MANNERS. 

When the settlers first came here the Indians gener- 
ally entertained them with a generous feeling. But 
after a series of years had elapsed, partly by reason of 
the wild, cruel, and uncultured nature of the Indian 
himself, and of his unstable, treacherous disposition, 
and partly by reason of the want of kindness, discre- 
tion, honesty, and fairness of individual white men, 
who, from time to time, violated law and justice ; and 
partly from the secret machinations of French Jesuits, 
who hated the English in their dominion here, and who 
took an interest in that nation, who were accused of 
advising or instigating the northern and eastern tribes to 
invade and make war upon our English settlers, the native 
Indian was made to distrust them. Hence, true to his 
nature, at every provocation, real or surmised, he 
sprang forth from his secret hiding-places an implacable 
enemy, quick to a reckless revenge against the English. 
And yet the Canadian French, some of them at least, 
could but be convinced of his frailties, giving him, as 
some thought, his true character, to wit : Les homines 
des bois — Men brutes of the forest. 

Yet there was much of manliness in the Indian heart 
and many were his enjoyments of life. All had a share 
in the cool and shady hunting-grounds, and in the glit- 
tering skies of heaven. His fishing and hunting af- 
forded him a pastime, tobacco was one of his best 
luxuries. His wants, being few, were easily supplied, 
and the bow, arrow, and fishing-rod were the leading 
instruments by which he was supplied with food and 
raiment. 



( 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 3O9 

With his tribe, his squaw, as well as himself, wan- 
dered, bearing, as often she did, the heaviest part of 
the burden. The New England lakes and rivers af- 
forded fruitful fishing-places ; and his wigwam was 
often made glad by the song and dance ; and by the 
smoking or " drinking the pipe," as they called it. 

The large lakes afforded them favored fishing-places. 
These, with the rivers, were a constant income as vast 
highways which brought to his use, at every returning 
spring, a full supply of salmon, alewives, and shad. At 
that day no dams or bars being in the way to prevent 
or retard the finny tribes in their advent up the rivers ; 
and coming in vast numbers, they became a source of 
great wealth to the natives of New England. At the 
forks of the Merrimac, now Franklin, N. H., the sal- 
mon, which are prone to seek the coldest climes, gen- 
erally took to the cold water from the mountains and 
went up the Pemigewasset ; while the other tribes 
usually sought the warm water, and followed it upward 
towards the great Lake Winnipisseogee. From our 
rivers, — the Merrimac, Connecticut, Kennebec, Saco, 
the Penobscot, and their tributaries, — the thirty thou- 
sand Indians, that used to trail along these valleys, 
obtained their principal support. For thousands of 
years these flowing fountains had been held within their 
domains as inherited prospective property of the red man. 

Sturgeons used to be obtained from the Merrimac. 
As these large fish passed up the river, two Indians, the 
one to scull the boat, and the other to throw the wea- 
pon, would spear them. Many a noble sturgeon in 
those years were thus slain and tugged ashore from his 
native waters. 



310 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Douglas, who lived among the tribes, and who gave 
an account of them a hundred and forty years ago, 
says, the " Indians are not so polite as the wandering 
Tartars. Like the wild Irish, they dreaded labor more 
than poverty. Like dogs, they are always either eating 
or sleeping, except in travelling, hunting, or dancing. 
Their sloth and indolence incline them to sottishness. 
Before Christians arrived amongst them they had no 
knowledge of strong drink. This Christian vice not 
only destroys their bodily health, and that of their 
progeny, but creates feuds, outrages, and horrid mur- 
ders. They are much given to falsehood and deceit. 
Their temper is the reverse of Eastern Indians, whereof 
some castes or sects will not kill any animal. The 
West Indians or Americans are barbarous, and upon 
small provocations kill their own species. Some of 
them excel in barbarity, and in revenge and fury eat 
the flesh of their enemies, not from hunger or delicacy. 
Such were the Florida Indians : they said that the 
flesh of the English ate mellow and tender ; that of the 
Spaniard, hard and tough ; the Bermudian, fishy.' 

" The Aboriginal Americans have no honesty, no 
honor ; that is, they are of no faith, but mere brutes in 
that respect. They generally have great fortitude of 
mind : without any appearance of fear or concern, they 
suffer any torture and death. In revenge they are 
barbarous and implacable : they never forgive injuries. 

" If one man kills another, the nearest in kindred to 
the murdered man watches an opportunity to kill the 
murderer ; and the death of one man may occasion the 
deaths of many. Therefore, when a man is guilty of 
murder, he generally leaves the tribe and goes into a 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 3II 

kind of voluntary banishment. They are a sullen, close 
people. The Indian wars ought to be called massacres 
or inhuman barbarous outrages, rather than the neces- 
sary acts of hostility." 

This is the descriptive account by Douglas of the 
Indians in New England one hundred and forty years 
ago. But it may be noted that this history of the 
Indian is written by a white man under all the preju- 
dices which may be had by one race against another. 
So that it must be taken at least with a few grains of 
allowance 

WAR BETWEEN THEMSELVES. 

At Penacook. 

The first great battle between the tribes, of which 
tradition has any account, was that at Penacook (since 
Rumford), now Concord, New Hampshire. It appears 
to have been not long before the plague of 16 17. As 
appears, the hostile Mohawk tribes, coming down from 
what is now New York to Penacook, gave battle to the 
Massachusetts, Pawtuckets, and Penacooks. 

The angry " Mohawks, who had once been repulsed 
by the Penacooks, came there with a strong force, and en- 
camped at what is now called" Fort Eddy, opposite 
Sugar Hill, on the west of the River Merrimac. Thence 
they watched their prey, determined to starve the Pena- 
cooks by a siege, or to decoy them out and destroy 
them. 

" Having gathered their corn for the season, and 
stored it in baskets around the walls of their fort, the 
Penacooks, with their women and children, entered 



312 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

within, and bade defiance to their foes." Skirmishes 
often ensued. Whenever a Penacook left the fort he 
was ambushed. If a canoe pushed off from the bank, 
another, from the opposite side, started in pursuit. The 
Penacooks would not venture an open fight, nor did the 
Mohawks dare to assail the fort. At length one day a 
solitary Mohawk was seen carelessly crossing Sugar 
Ball Plain, south of the fort. Caught by the decoy, the 
Penacooks rushed out in pursuit. The Mohawk ran 
for the river. Band after band from the fort followed 
in the chase, till all were drawn out of the fort ; when 
the Mohawks, secretly crossing the river above, having 
approached in the rear and secreted themselves, now 
suddenly sprang from their hiding-places, and took pos- 
session of the fort. At this a terrible war-whoop went 
up from the Penacooks. They turned back, and long 
and bloody was the battle. 

The fight by the Penacooks was " for their wives and 
children ; for their old men, for their corn, and for life 
itself." By the Mohawks it was " for revenge and for 
plunder." 

The Penacooks were much reduced in numbers, and 
the Mohawks, retreating, " left their dead and wounded 
on the ground." 

The diversity of skulls which used to be found on 
that ancient Indian battle-ground induces the belief 
that their dead were buried promiscuously.* 

In Massachusetts. 

The second battle was that terrible conflict between 
the Tarratines of the East and the Pawtuxets and other 

* See Bouton's " History of Concord." 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 313 

tribes of the west, during the plague which prevailed 
here amongst them, about the years 16 17 and 16 18, and 
it was their bones that were common to be found by the 
Pilgrims along the hills and in the valleys of New Eng- 
land, several years after that battle had been fought. 

At Sachem^ s Plain. 

The third great conflict, as among themselves, was 
that of Miantonimo against Uncas ; to wit : the Narra- 
gansetts against the Mohegans, in 1637, on Sachem's 
Plain, which we have already herein elaborated. 

In the Mohawk Coujitry. 

The fourth and last conflict among themselves was in 
1669, when the Massachusetts tribes, enforced by Eng- 
lish volunteers (without any authority from its colony), 
in all about seven hundred strong, took a march into the 
Maquaa's country. They were mostly young warriors, 
and moved with the intent of invading and destroying 
the Mohawks. 

Eliot, the New England apostle, ardently advised 
against this movement, but to no effect ; and five of his 
Indian disciples, also volunteering, went westward into 
the fight. 

Josias, an ambitious, middle-aged Indian, led off, as 
commander. Thence they advanced two hundred miles 
through the forest, and, at length falling in upon a Mo- 
hawk fort, they stormed it, but lost scores of their men 
slain. Others fell sick and died ; and, after much 
hesitation and delay, they gave up the siege. 

On their retreat, the Mohawks following in pursuit, 
and obtaining position in swamp and ambush, in front 



314 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

of them, gave battle. Their chief, Chickatabut, was 
killed, and nearly fifty of these warriors thus fell on 
their retreat from the invincible Mohawks. Their gen- 
eral loss was nearly one half of their original force. 

INDIANS AGAINST THE ENGLISH. 

As between the native tribes of New England and its 
English settlers, by force of a treaty with Massasoit, 
there remained, from the advent of the Pilgrims, as we 
have seen, a peace of fifty years ; and then, with King 
Philip, hostilities commenced, which culminated into a 
war of extermination, which continued, to a greater or 
less extent, for nearly an hundred years. Its landscape, 
in the main, was a wilderness interspersed with now and 
then a clearing, a hamlet, a cot, or a wild wigwam. The 
conflicts were sometimes commenced at midnight, — as 
in the assault upon the garrisons at Cocheco, — but 
mostly in the early morning ; and this accords with In- 
dian customs. Their weapons of war were sometimes 
the bow and poisoned arrow, or, later, the English mus- 
ket; yet generally they gave battle with the blazing 
fagot, the long knife, and tomahawk. 

The weapons of the English settlers were the common 
firelock and the deadly sabre. 

The Indians' mode of attack was, and is, like this : 
By the hundreds they at night approach a village, divide 
their force into small squads, who remain secreted in 
every part of it, and at dawn the battle commences in 
the slaughter of its men at the threshold, in the killing 
of their families, and in the burning down of their 
houses. 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 315 

RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 

This was an Indian military punishment. It con- 
sisted in compelling the victim, with the upper part of 
his body naked, to run between two lines of Indians, 
usually with rods in their hands, who inflicted blows 
as he passed. 

POW-WOW. 

Mrs. Rowlandson, the captive, described a pow-wow, 
as foreshadowed on pages 173 and 174 of this work, and 
elaborates a scene after the fight at Medfield, as fol- 
lows : — 

" Before they came to us, oh the outrageous roaring 
and whooping that there was ! They began their din 
about a mile before they came to us. By their noise 
and whooping they signified how many they had de- 
stroyed, which was, at that time, twenty-three. They 
that were with us at home were gathered together as 
soon as they heard the whooping, and every time that 
the others went over their number these at home gave a 
shout, that the very earth rang again. And thus they 
continued till those that had been upon the expedition 
were come up to the sagamore's wigwam. And then, oh 
the hideous insulting and triumphing that there was 
over some Englishmen's scalps, that they had taken (as 
their manner is) and brought with them ! " * 

* " Mrs. Rowlandson's Narrative." 



3l6 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

LOCATION OF THE TRIBES. 
1637- 

In the East were the Tarratines, who, in 161 7, had 
invaded the Pawtuxets, of Rliode Island, and other 
tribes, and who, aided by the plague of that time, had 
nearly annihilated them. Westerly, on the Mystic, still 
smouldered the ashes of the Pequot nation. In Massa- 
chusetts and Rhode Island the Narragansetts — that best 
informed of all the tribes, led as they were, and had 
been, by the renowned Miantonimo and Canonicus — still 
roamed. Further westerly, in Connecticut, the valiant 
Mohegan tribes, then, and for a long lime, still wan- 
dered, under the chief leadership of Uncas. And then, 
along the Merrimac and Connecticut Rivers, and in 
winter along the shores of the sea, were the Penacook 
and Wamesit tribes, of New Hampshire and Massa- 
chusetts, under the lead of Passaconavvay as chief 
sachem, and afterwards of his son Wonalancet. Also 
in their midst were the Nipmuck tribes, that roamed, 
located, as they had been, between the two great rivers 
above named. More northerly, and along the easterly 
borders of New York, there were the hunting grounds 
(six tribes in all) of the warlike Mohawks ; and in the 
whole making up about thirty nations, and in New Eng- 
land to the number of about fifty thousand native Indian 
inhabitants. Tlijsse nations, organized under laws un- 
written, wandered wild, as all the inhabitants of the 
world (before the dawn of civilization) did in tribes 
wander. 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 317 

ELIOT AMONG THE TRIBES. 

In the year 1631, John EHot, the apostle, came to 
New England, and studiously undertook the evangeli- 
zation of these rude and uncultivated nations of the 
wilderness. 

At the first, in preparation for this great work, he 
directed all his sermons to the English settlers in this 
region, and, with such assistance as he could obtain, 
organized and built up churches in the English hamlets, 
at his own Roxbury, at Boston, and elsewhere, preach- 
ing half his time at home, and the remainder of his 
time throughout the white settlements in the neighboring 
towns of New England. And thus he advanced for the 
first fifteen years of his mission. 

In the meantime he had been educating young men 
for the ministry, had procured the building of an Indian 
college at Cambridge, in which the natives were taught 
the English language, as well as divinity; while others 
were taught the Indian language, and how to translate 
the English into the Indian language. During this 
fiften years he was also at work, by pamphlet, by letter, 
and by books of his own making, whereby he shaped 
and concentrated public opinion of the settlements in 
favor of his plans, and to the advancement of his evan- 
gelical enterprise. 

His assistant-preachers, his printers, proof-readers, 
and interpreters thus being schooled, the apostle then 
in the year 1646 commenced his missionary work by 
preaching his first sermon to the assembled tribes at 
Nonantum, near Natick, Massachusetts, and at Wabun's 
tent, in the wilderness. 



3l8 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

TROUBLES BEYOND THE SEA. 
1631. 

Eliot, in New England, had left the Old World, as 
we have seen, when the unfortunate Charles I. was 
king, and at the time when the religious creeds of the 
realm were distracted, all in dread conflict ; when the 
king was at war against parliament, and parliament 
was angry against the king; when the English govern- 
ment was powerless to advance, its wheels being 
clogged up, the kingdom throughout broken down, and 
falling apart into factions. It was then the religious 
and political rights of the realm seemed to have come 
to an end, and the armies of England, Scotland, and 
Ireland were making sad havoc on many a field of bat- 
tle. And it was then that our Eliot had left England, 
and the comrades of his youth, among whom was that 
valiant heart, then young, like his own, and full of 
Republicanism, Oliver Cromwell. 

Cromwell, as appears, disgusted with England's 
troubles, had, at about the same time, packed his trunks 
with intention also to embark for our New England ; * but 
the God of governments, for wise purposes, turned the 
intent of Cromwell to still remain in England ; while 
Eliot was led, for another wise purpose, to seek the 
broad field of apostolic labors among the natives, in 
this then wilderness of the New World. And thus it 

* " Urged by his wants and his piety, Cromwell had made a party with 
Hampden, his near kinsman, who was pressed only by the latter motive, 
to transport himself into New England, now become the retreat of the 
more zealous among the Puritanical party ; and it was on an order of 
Council which obliged tliem to disembark and remain in England." — 
" Hume's History of England," vol. 5, ch. 61, p. 437. 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 3I9 

proved, that while Cromwell soon became the renowned 
Protector of the realm in the Old World, Eliot, coming 
here, became the great primeval leader to a Christian 
civilization among the settlers and Indian nations of 
the new. 

eliot's books. 

During the existence of Cromwell's sovereignty, of 
seven years, ending at his decease, September 3, 1658, 
Eliot here had written a book entitled "The Christian 
Commonwealth." In this he had planned and praised 
and chalked out a republican form of government. But, 
sad as it seems, Cromwell dying before the book issued 
from the press, and the work coming, in its terms, in 
conflict with the crown, Eliot began to see danger to 
himself upon the kingdom's being restored to the reign 
of Charles II. 

The colonial government also becoming anxious upon 
the matter of this book, which sought a republican 
form of government, and advising its suppression, — 
the work was suspended, and the book never was 
given to the public. Thus, more than two hundred 
years ago, did John Eliot foreshadow our republican 
form of government in his " Christian Commonwealth," 
thus suppressed ; yet his cautious plans and sugges- 
tions became popular, and lived to be adopted and 
sustained by a noble nation an hundred years after 
his death. 

These were times of great anxiety and trial on both 
sides of the sea ; and on the change of the government 
back from the Protectorship of a Cromwell to the 
crown of a kingdom, all of the Protector's adherents 



320 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

were narrowly watched, and, as we have seen, some of 
them escaped to foreign ports, for their Uves, under the 
general appellation of the '* Regicides." 

CIVIL POWERS. 

All the way along, in the Apostle's progress in New 
England, there were several elements of power which 
had to be respected. 

First of all, there was the parent English govern- 
ment, at London, then distracted, as we have seen, by 
terrible conflicts. Then there was the Colonial govern- 
ment at Boston, and then the loose, rude, and undefined 
governments of the Indian nations in New England. 

The rights, rules, habits, and customs of all these, at 
all times, were to be heeded and respected ; for there is 
no nobler reward in this life than the consciousness of 
having rendered to all their dues.* 

NATICK AN INDIAN TOWN. 

Early in his mission Eliot obtained a gift, or ex- 
change of lands, on which to build up and organize an 
Indian town, which took the name of Natick, and 
which, in their language, means a " Place of the 
Hills." 

This was peopled, organized, and officered by In- 
dians, and all the affairs of the town were conducted 
in a perfectly orderly manner by its Christian Indian 
inhabitants nearly through the fifty years of Eliot's 

* See Caverley's "Lessons of Law and Life from John Eliot the 
Apostle." 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 32 1 

labors in their midst, and for nearly fifty years after- 
wards. At Natick, Eliot, often attended by his minis- 
try, met the assembled tribes of red men there, up to 
the end of his days, as well as in other Indian towns, 
then fast becoming civilized within the spacious fields 
of his labor. But, alas ! the advent of Philip's war, a 
war of extermination, fell upon Eliot and all the vast 
labors of his life, bringing dismay. The war trump 
and the conflict came upon him like the rushing of a 
terrible tempest, threatening devastation and death to 
the nations. The tomahawk and scalping-knife on the 
one hand, and the English bayonet and sabre on the 
other, were being brandished, threatening the over- 
throw of his Indian churches ; and Eliot's Zion was 
beginning to be tossed by the tempest. The tornado 
gathered blackness, and the lightnings and thunderbolts 
of war came down, chilling the blood of mortals. It 
was then that Christian peace and love were turned 
into madness, cruelty, and blood. Thence came the 
blazing fagot and the deadly tomahawk, with all of 
their nightly and morning horrors, waging a war of 
extermination, which wielded the blood-stained weapons 
of demons. 

And in this the Christian Indian was not allowed to 
stand neutral, but was compelled to take up arms 
against his own kindred race, or be manacled, impris- 
oned, or slain. Under this pressure some of the natives 
not being willing to allow their own kindred people to 
be destroyed, fled into the ranks of King Philip ; some 
of them, like Wonalancet, seeking peace, wandered 
away into the dense wilderness far away ; while Eliot's 
non-resistant Christian red men were seized, as at Na- 



322 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

tick, manacled, and boated down Charles River, and 
were held at Deer Island as prisoners of war.* 

Hence it was that one of Eliot's disciples. Job Ne- 
suton, when the dread alternative came, taking sides 
with the English, turned into the fight with them. Job 
had been long with James, the printer in Eliot's service 
on the Indian Bible and other works, was a good lin- 
guist in the Indian tongue, as well as in the English 
language. In the conflict he proved a valiant soldier, 
and fell in the fight during the first expedition at 
Mount Hope. 

1. 'T is sad to tell, how the Indian fell, 

How the storm had swept the deck, 
How the tribes of yore, all dashed ashore, 
The craft became a wreck. 

2. Bright stars shall burn, and seasons turn 

Their sunny sides forever, 
But ne'er to change, that mountain range 
Again shall know them never. 

3. True, true, they say, there's a better day. 

And, faith, we ought to find it ; 
For the lights of love that burn above 
Are lit for man to mind it, 

THE SHAM FIGHT AT COCHECO.f 

About a month subsequent to the death of King 
Philip, the war was supposed to be ended, and procla- 
mation was made by the English that on the sixth 
day of September, 1676, there was to be a great 
training at Cocheco, in which the red men in every part 

* Caverly's " Lessons of Law and Life from John Eliot the Apostle," 
page 15. 

t Dover, N. H. 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 323 

of New England were invited to participate. The day 
arrived. The peaceful Wonalancet was there. Four 
hundred other Indians were there, among whom were 
that scattered and bereaved remnant of Eliot's men, 
from Wamesit and other places, some of whom had 
been pressed into the fight against a strong desire to be 
neutral. Some of them, peaceful, had fled away for a 
while, but had returned at the joyful news of peace ; 
and all, now willing to join the white men, bringing a 
Christian olive branch, had now come to take part in 
the great training at Cocheco. 

Major Waldron, (who, as we have seen, four years 
afterwards by the tribes was murdered, at midnight,) 
was the commanding general of the day. In the order 
of exercises the sham-fight was conspicuous. In this, 
Indians, without weapons, were stationed to the drag- 
ropes of the artillery. The English, as of course, had 
charge of the guns. All being ready for the onset, a 
signal was given by the discharge of a field-piece, at 
which, by a preconcerted manoeuvre, the English in- 
fantry, closing in upon the Indians, on all sides, seized, 
manacled, and confined them all as prisoners of war."^ 

Thus, at Cocheco had assembled the Wamesits, the 
Penacooks, the Ossipees, Pequakets, and others, all at 
the peace-making beck of the white man, and under his 
then supposed benign protection, as well as of their 
leader, the peaceful Wonalancet, and of Eliot's Christian 
civilization. But, alas ! they were all prisoners. And 

* Hubbard, the historian, says : " They were handsomely surprised, 
without the loss of any life, to the number of four hundred Indians." 
That parade field was on the rise of ground east of the bridge over the 
Cocheco, in Dover, N. H, 



324 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

then and there, without a trial, they were separated, the 
peaceful from the perfidious. About two hundred oi 
them, with Wonalancet, then thought to be harmless, 
were released. The other two hundred, being suspected 
of evil intent, were marched or boated away to Boston. 
Seven or eight of them were hanged as murderers, some 
of them sent to other parts, and some sold into slavery.* 
The selling of Indians into slavery appears not to 
have been uncommon.! 

KING Philip's war. 

This terrible conflict with the natives took its origin 
not from the masses, on the one side or the other, but 
from the depredations of desperadoes, from time to 
time, the embers of anger were constantly kindled, 
soon to be fanned forth into furious flames ; and 
although terrific scenes of war and blood had trans- 
pired, beclouding and hedging up the pathway of the 
apostle, in the killing of his educated ministers and 
teachers, and in the distraction or destruction of his 
churches, and the people of his faith and care, Eliot 
was still prayerfully active, and, but for him and his 
people, New England most likely w^ould have been 
lost to its first English settlers. 

ELIOT IN WAR. 

In that dread conflict the apostle had followed his 
disciples, his ministers, his teachers, his printers, his 

* See Caverly's " Indian Wars of New England." 

t Just prior to this time seven Indians were sold by the Treasurer of the 
Colony, "to be transported to any place out of this continent." — See 
" Genealogy of the Eliot Family," pp. 133, 134. 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. ^2$ 

interpreters, and other adherents to their many places 
of imprisonment. At the Pines, on Charles River, as 
they were boated away ; at Deer Island, and other 
places, while they were held imprisoned and in chains, — 
he was ever present, and, although powerless to rescue 
them, his kind, discreet voice, everywhere and to all 
administered comfort, encouragement, and consolation. 
And when, at Philip's death, the rancor of war seemed 
10 subside, the apostle again advanced, not as before, 
but as well as he could, on foot, in the forest, preaching 
and trying to re-establish his former missionary stations, 
advan,cing sometimes through torrents of rain, storms 
of hail, or drifts of snow, and, as it is said, sometimes 
for days with scarcely a dry thread in his garments. 

ELIOT AT NASHUA. 

At one time previously, in the summer of 1652, he 
had started from Roxbury to preach to the tribes at 
Nashua, some sixty miles away, as then reckoned. But 
while on the journey, about midway a notice reached 
him of a conflict up there among the Indians, that 
might endanger his own life. Thereupon, for a day or 
two, he turned aside, and waited. 

The old chief at Nashua, hearing of this, at once or- 
ganized an armed force of twenty Indian warriors, and 
bounding through the forest surrounding their old apos- 
tle, escorted him safely through, with gallant honors, 
to the place of his appointment, where he was privileged 
to preach to their waiting assembly. 



326 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

eliot's friends. 

Ilis Christians, in the advance of years, those who 
had already been driven out from their native soil, those 
that had perished in the fight, or otherwise had been slain, 
or had died of disease or starvation during the wars, 
including those whom he in his long life had parted 
with at the common grave, had been thousands. 

Yet he had consolation, that amid all the trials of 
earth he had constantly borne to the breeze that gospel 
banner of righteousness, beautifully inscribed " Love 
to God ; Peace on earth, and good-will towards men." 

ELIOT AN ADVOCATE FOR SCHOOLS. 

At one of the synods held in Boston, Cotton Mather 
says: "I heard Eliot pray, 'Lord, for schools every- 
where among us ; that our schools may flourish ; that 
every member of this assembly may go home to procure 
a good school to be encouraged in the town where he 
lives ; that before we die we may all be happy to see a 
good school established in every part of the country.' " 
This was two hundred years ago. 

TEACHERS. 

Oh that the conductors and teachers of the schools 
of our time would but take inspiration from the pre- 
cepts and examples of Eliot and of earlier days ; that 
the light of heaven, as at early morn, might break in 
upon them, that the youth of these years may be trained 
to the true science and economy of life, — to a becom- 
ing servitude; to a code of genuine good manners, — 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 327 

without which there can be no substantial success in 
the world ; that pupils, male and female, may be trained 
to love labor ; industrious, ardent, economical labor ; 
without which there can be no sound health nor solid 
comfort ; and thus that the rising generations may be 
led to fervent, lofty aspirations, to duteous lives, and 
noblest achievements. 

SAGAMORE JOHN. 

In time of Philip's War this Indian came before the 
Council at Boston, bringing with him one hundred and 
eighty warriors, with their wives and children, all of 
whom surrendered. 

In the following winter, also, under a Boston procla- 
mation, previously made, it is said, John, being a Nip- 
muck sachem, with many others came in, and all were 
protected of their lives. And Hubbard, who lived and 
wrote at that day, says, — 

"Yet did that treacherous villain make an escape 
this winter from Captain Prentice's house, under whose 
charge he was put, about Cambridge village, and with 
twenty more fled away into the woods, to shift for him- 
self with the rest of his bloody companions. They 
were pursued, but had gone too fast and too far to be 
overtaken." 

It was thus, and otherwise, the natives vanished 
from New England. 

EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 

Mr. Hubbard being a clergyman, as well as historian, 
complaining of the pagan propensities of Uncas, the 



328 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Mohegan chief, substantially says : " That Parson," 
Fiske, of Norwich, " in the great drought of that sum- 
mer, had prayed constantly and fervently for rain, but 
in vain ; that the English were left to pray without a?iy 
motion fro7n the Indians ; and that the drought long 
remained upon them. But that at length, by reason of 
the dearth, Uncas and his tribes were induced to come 
in and join in their prayers ; at which dense clouds at 
once covered the earth, a rain-storm followed, and that 
the river 7'ose 7nore than two feet in height that nights 

WONALANCET. 

This was a son of Passaconaway, the famous sachem 
of Penacook. The name Wonalancet is defined to 
signify the " Hero who maketh his bed well." According 
to Indian customs it must have been given him in his 
early manhood, by his then chief, for some praiseworthy 
deed. Indian heroic names are given as follows : — 

At the conclusion of a great feast, a battle, or a 
pow-wow all are assembled, and, kneeling in a vast ring 
around their chief sagamore, the chief then rising, and 
advancing, takes the young hero of his choice — who is 
known to have performed some valiant or noble deed — 
by the hand, leads him into the ring, and crowns him 
with an appropriate name. 

In this instance it must have been done like this : 
The chief makes proclamation, announcing to the ring 
the noble deeds done, and then, turning to the hero, in 
substance he declares, that for all this thy name shalt 
be Wonalancet. 

This noble chief, though peaceful, held a fort or. 
what is still known as Fort Hill, in our ancient 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 329 

Wamesit, and at one time lived on an island in the 
Merrimac, in the neighborhood of that locality. Soon 
after Philip's death, Wonalancet wandered away to 
Canada, but never returned. 

WABAN. 

Waban's tent was at Nonantum, near Natick. He 
was Eliot's first Indian convert to Christianity. He 
being an Indian of strong mind and good common- 
sense, was made the Police Judge of that locality of 
Indian inhabitants. The following is a verbatim copy 
of one of the warrants, which issued from Waban's 
bench at Natick : — 

"You, you big constable, quick you catch Jeremiah 
Offscow, strong you hold um, safe you bring um beffore 
me. Waban^ Justice of the Peace." 

INDIAN ORIGIN. 

At first, from curious gem beneath the sod, 
Well blest in needful care of nature's God, 
Whose eye, all-seeing, here began to scan 
The strange invention of mysterious man ; 
By vigorous thrift, as fell the beaming rays 
Of Phoebus, fitly felt on vernal days, 
Came forth an Indian's ^ infant, form divine, 
First spawn of manhood on the stream of time ; 
Basking in valleys wide, earth-formed, earth-fed, 
For ripened age ; by native reason led, 

* The natives were called Indians by Columbus through mistake, who at 
first supposed he had arrived on the eastern shore of India, by which they 
took their name. 



330 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

And chief o'er beast and bird, in power became 
A fitful terror to the timid game. 

Increased, at length, by Nature's self-same laws. 
To numerous tribes, prolific, rnen and squaws, 
From artful wigwams, new, spread o'er the land, 
First skill evinced in architecture grand. 
He wanders wild, belted with arrows keen, 
And blest with knowledge, right and wrong between, 
A stately priest at peace. Provoked to strife, 
He wields a hatchet and a scalping-knife 
With dire revenge. E'er true to self and squaw, 
He knows no faith, no code, but Nature's law. 

His footsteps fondly dwell where now we trace 
Primeval heirlooms of the human race ; 
The chisel smooth and tomahawk, first made 
Of stone, ere art had formed the iron blade ; 
Where from a narrow dock, with native crew, 
He launched, in naval pride, the first canoe. 
And ploughed the Merrimac. His dripping oar 
Ripples the waters, never pressed before, 
Bestirs the scaly tribes to nervous fear 
For rights, most sacred, thus invaded here ; 
As if by instinct, they the chieftain knew 
To be a tyrant and a glutton too. 
Intent on native beast, on bird, or fish, 
By slaughter dire to fill a dainty dish ; 
Whose webs are nets, from bark of trees alone, 
And mills that grind are mortars made of stone ; 
Who clothed his tribes, if clad they e'er appear, 
In raiment plundered from the bounding deer; 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 33 I 

Who maketh treacherous hooks from guiltless bones, 
And drags a deadly net o'er sacred homes. 

And thus, o'er land and stream, for ages long, 
A race of red men, vagrant plod along. 
With language taught from rustic nature's throne, 
And habits, each peculiarly their own ; 
On growth spontaneous fed, content with prey, 
What serves the purpose of a single day. 
Their God is seen afar, at rise of sun, 
Their life in heaven is hunting here begun ; 
By laws unwritten sachems rule the tribes. 
And lead the host, wherever ill betides, 
To fatal war. By force of arrows hurled, 
They reigned sole monarchs in this western world. 

The countless years thus passed of man's career, 
Fraught with achievements oft enacted here : 
With works of skill, what human thought could do. 
With grand exploits, or deeds of direful hue ; 
With kings and prophets, chief in note or worth. 
Through generations vast, transpired on earth. 
Make but a blank in Time's historic lore, 
Till voyagers from another world came o'er ; 
Columbus first of all ; then many more 
Within an hundred years then next before 
The Pilgrims land ; adventurers indeed, 
From Adam sprung, juniors in race and breed. 
But versed in letters, statute law, and art. 
Seniors in science, just in head and heart. 

Now, then, Samoset comes, with heart and hand 
To "welcome Englishmen," and grant them land. 



332 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

His visage dark, with long and raven hair, 

No treacherous marks his beardless features bear ; 

With frame erect, and strangely painted o'er, 

Belted around his loins, a sagamore. 

Whose bony arm a bow and arrow held ; 

A heart unsoiled his tawny bosom swelled 

To generous deeds. He broken English spake, 

And talked anon of men, — of Francis Drake, 

That gallant white man, years before who came 

And gave New Albion her historic name ; 

Of Captain Smith, who since surveyed the coast, 

And other voyagers, now a scattered host, — 

Of former days some history tried to give, 

And lay of land where rambling red men live. 

Truthful Samoset proves, and seeks to bring 

The Pilgrim saints in audience with his king. 

Then Massasoit, the king, and chiefs appear. 
As well the governor and suite draw near. 
By music led ; and soldiers at command, 
Clad in the homespun of a foreign land, 
And greet the king. The king no armor bears, 
Save on his breast, a knife-like weapon wears, 
White beads about his neck, a gaudy ring, 
Tobacco in a bag, hung by a string. 
Comprise the insignia of his regal power, 
Known and observed of nations as of yore. 

Both king and chiefs, with painted features, wear 
Feathers, disjoined from birds of plumage rare, 
But little else. Kindly in turn they greet 
The Pilgrim band ; and down in group now seat 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 333 

Themselves, holding discourse of allied strength 
In treaty. And when agreed, at length. 
They pass the pipe around, each drinks in turn, 
A sacred compact thus they all confirm ; 
A treaty wise, that full contentment gives 
For fifty years ; while Massasoit lives. 

Advaficement. 

Thus did the English proud possession share, 
By dint of treaty, all this region fair ; 
Forever thence, to lay the forest low. 
To fence fair fields, and drive the crooked plough ; 
To waste the wigwams which for ages spread 
The wild, and build broad mansions in their stead, 
School-houseSj temples to the God of grace, 
And cities proud, peculiar to the race 
Of Adam. Diligent, through honest toil 
They reap rich harvest from the virgin soil ; 
From culture, urged with bold, aggressive sway, 
Wild beasts, becoming frantic, flee away. 

As ravenous bears, and moose and wolves recede, 
Neat-cattle and the noble horse succeed, 
In aid of husbandry. Full flocks abound. 
The herds increase as roll the seasons round. 
The desert even, through culture's grateful care, 
Soon set with fruit, begins to bloom and bear ; 
Fair Nature smiles, responsive to the plan 
Of faith in God and industry of man. 
Then follows war, and anarchy appears. 
Which came to blast the crowning thrift of years ; 



334 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Yet peace at length, sweet harbinger of health, 
Of generous thrift foreshadowing weal and wealth, 
Brings her glad tidings down, and cheers the land 
With prompt good-will, and noble deeds at hand ; 
To heal the broken heart, and make amends 
For waste of wars which from the past descends. 

Thence this fair vale, from mountain to the main, 
In vernal grandeur buds, to bloom again ; 
And plenteous harvest, with her golden ears. 
Crowning the prudence of progressive years, 
Adorns the field, and grace triumphant gives. 

Thus smiling spring comes in from winter's blast. 
To swell the seed. And now the bloom is past, 
Productive seasons flit their hours away ; 
Each warms the world in bounty, day by day, 
That living things in nature may survive, 
That man and beast, that come and go, may thrive. 
From varied gifts subsistence v/e devise, 
And in due season gather in supplies ; 
The husbandman hath care for weighty sheaves, 
Yet for a time unthreshed the grain he leaves, 
While down the meadows mowers all the way 
Swing swath on swath of verdant, heavy hay, 
Tugged there by Johnny, tossing it in air. 
To cure the crop, while yet the field is fair. 
The rakers next. The teamster, in his turn, 
With rattling cart and wheel, the forkman, stern, 
Each vies in strength, in manly ardor shown, 
They glean the glen, and bear the harvest home. 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 335 

But when wild clouds have gathered in the sky, 
They quit the fumed field to thresh the rye ; 
Up to the barn the fathers built of old, 
Where fearful swallows weary wings unfold 
Above ; there, face to face, within the door. 
In squads divided on the spacious floor, 
The heavy sheaves lay head to head between. 
The swinging flails high in the air are seen ; 
Blow follows blow, and strength to strength they vie, 
The bundles bounding rattle out the rye. 

As when two charioteers, by Bacchus strong 

Inflamed, now homeward lash their steeds along 

The bounding bridge — swift whirl the wheels around 

By dint of trial, and heavy hoofs rebound ; 

So from the floor the farmer's noisy flail. 

Reverberates aloud along the vale. 

Then note when evening gathers o'er the plain, 

Now laid at length a heavy heap of grain, 

There to be winnowed when bleak Boreas blows ; 

Then high the chaff in cloudy current flows. 

And from the lifted measure, shaken seen. 

The grain in conic pile falls pure and clean. 

Then stored in bin, or cask, safe held at will, 

Awaits the money market or the mill. 

Meanwhile the field assumes a spiky form. 

The time hath come to gather in the corn ; 

On hand the laborers, on hand the cart. 

The lads are all aglee to take a part. 

For now they know, when night approaches near, 

'T will bring that joyful husking of the year. 



336 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

All now one purpose faithfully fulfil, 

The rustling ears are hurried from the hill, 

With ardent zeal ; and flushed with hopeful joys, 

Above the standing stalks both men and boys, 

High on their shoulders crowded baskets wield ; 

The heavy harvest carted from the field, 

They pile in heaps within the grating door, 

Throughout the spacious barn and kitchen floor 

At eve. There then the guests all seated down, 

From every cottage home in all the town — 

Some old, some young, and some quite lately born- 

Vie with each other husking out the corn. 

Then comes the hour that gathers large supplies 

Of apple-dowdies and of pumpkin pies ; 

Then bends the board with viands, fruit, and wine, 

All hail that gleeful hour, the olden time ! 

Then when the week hath turned her toils away, 

How mild and silent is the Sabbath day. 

'T is then the maiden^ churchward as she goes, 
Proud in good looks and go-to-meeting clothes, 
Across the glen, untouched of dust or dews. 
Bears in her hand her nice embroidered shoes : 
Her stockings, too, home knit of purest white, 
Now near the temple pulls them on aright ; 
Then in the precinct of that holy place, 
Where loud the parson grave dispenses grace, 
Shines forth a beauty, flounced, there seated down. 
The belle of all the beaus in all the town. 

Such neat conceptions and such care in dress, 
Deliberate judgments do not count the less. 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 33/ 

Go back and see ! A glance shall well suffice, 
Our kind old mothers were the best of wives ; 
They paved the footpath of our lengthened lives, 
Their precepts prayerful pointed to the skies ; 
True joys most dear to early days alone, 
Ungrudged they brought, forgetful of their own. 

Men of my age, we hail that Highland glee, 
That cheered the home, the hearts of you and me 
Of yore. Ye matrons, too, whose childhood prime 
Is merged in memories of that olden time, 
Call up that hour ; and bear me witness too. 
Of what in early life you used to do ; 
How then on tip-toe cotton yarn you spun ; 
How buzzed the band, and how the spindle run, 
How moved the thread around the handy reel, 
How dear old mother whirled the linen wheel ; 
While at her knee the prattling baby stands, 
Provoking grandma with his little hands. 
To feel the forked distaff's flaxy curl. 
Or ferret out the curious whiz and whirl 
Of wheel and spool ; so fondly he admires. 
The enchanting scenes of childhood's joyful day, 
We cherish still, though fled like flowers of May. 

Invention, 

Anon advance the riper years of art. 
In which inventions take decisive part , 
Whence generous genius prosecutes the plan. 
To overcome the drudgery of man ; 
Makes lifeless things impelled at his control, 
To do the duty of a living soul. 



338 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Hence cotton gins and spinning jennies fine, 
Outrun the wooden wheels of the olden time ; 
Hence power of steam, applied on sea or land. 
Expelling labor with a heavy hand, 
Work startling wonders through mechanic skill, 
To move the car, the steamboat, or the mill. 

The Iron Horse comes next to greet the day — 
A gift of Stephenson — now on the wa3^ 
With charioteer half hid upon his back, 
Along where Merrimac hath led the track. 
Bears high his head ; held harnessed to a train, 
Fraught full of life, his energies aflame. 
Loud whistling wild, and fierce impelled amain, 
He skirts the hills and snorts along the plain. 

When in the shades of night you chance to hear, 
The screaming whistle of that charioteer 
Afar — then note the belching smoke and fire ; 
The train impelled as if by Pluto's ire. 
Darts like a dragon, whizzing winding past. 
As if from gates of hell let loose at last : 
Yet takes a charge to distant realms afar, 
And brings a kind return in peace or war, 
Shortens for aye the tedious length of space. 
Fruitful in freight for every clime and race. 

Not less the Telegraph, contrived of Morse, 
Makes labor less. Thrown out upon its course, 
Full fraught with messages diffuses light, 
Nor time, nor space, is measured in its flight ; 
From state to state in every region hurled, 
Skirting the ocean bed from world to world, 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 339 

To bear the news ; to tender useful aid 
To all the traffic of a foreign trade ; 
To catch the culprit in his wayward flight, 
And turn him back to rectitude and right. 

'T is thus the " letters to the lightnings " given, 
Flashed o'er the earth, reflect the light of heaven, 
Make common cause for good with all mankind ; 
So man progresses in the march of mind. 
No less the fields in cultivation fine, 
Through deep discovery in progressive time 
Advance. The patent plough, the scythe for mowing. 
And all things else of art, that seem worth knowing. 
Invented now o'ercome the farmers toil ; 
They make him momarch of this sacred soil. 

Machinery, 

By Industry that artful Lowell led, 

By faith far-seeing which a Jackson had, 

The noisy flood that o'er the breaker swells 

Is turned aside to follow huge canals ; 

Structures gigantic rise in prospect fair, 

Cities that spread in beauty here and there 

Adorn the valley ; * manufactories filled 

With prompt machinery as art had willed 

Her work — in stately ranks now line the shore 

Of Merrimac. Now changed the torrent roar ; 

Her fountains turned, flow down in tranquil stream. 

And rolling round the graded hills between, 

* The Merrimac now sustains seven beautiful cities and is renowned as 
being the hardest working liver in the world. It waves its waters ninety 
miles from Franklin to the sea. 



340 BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 

Through deep-laid channels never washed before, 
Propel the ponderous wheel with mighty power. 

Fierce then the wheels, alive with one consent, 
Fly round and round, each on its duty sent ; 
Ten thousand spindles, in their places spin, 
Ten thousand spools, fast wind their fibres in ; 
Ten thousand shuttles shoot across the web, 
Fed by the mules, slow back and forward led ; 
Fast roll the fabrics from the rolling beam. 
Complete in beauty, true in thread and seam, 
The sheeting white, the listed broadcloths fine. 
Neat satinet, and carpets superfine ; 
Bright gaudy prints, and blankets plainer made, 
For realms remote, for home or foreign trade ; 
Workshops with throngs the vills environ. 
Magic in power, o'er wood, o'er steel and iron ; 
Alive in thought, and helping one another. 
Onward in handy art, advancing further. 
Embracing all the works that man can do. 
Through labor fruitful, and inventions new. 

Come back, Tisquantum ! if above ye dwell, 
Behold thy Merrimac, once loved so well ! 
Thy race had traced it from creation's start. 
The white man turns it to the works or art ; 
Survey its progress these three hundred years. 
Since up and down, ye wandered here in tears. 
Alone, bereaved. Call once again to view 
Thy thick-set forest wild, thy birch canoe ; 
Where now thy kindred sleep, as from the first, 
Where pilgrim saints since mingled in the dust ; 





TISQUANTUM'S RETURN. 



MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 34] 

Where now the ploughman trudges in his toil, 
Thoughtless of what still lies beneath the soil. 

Oh ! let us know, from what thy name inspires. 
What is man's destiny ; what Heaven requires 
More fully still. From realms eternal fair, 
Tell us of hunting-grounds, of glory there ; 
Where blissful prospect. Heaven shall fulfil 
To generations onward, upward still ; 
While purest fountains, flowing, failing never, 
Shall swell the tide of Merrimac forever ; 
Sure sign here given, of God's enduring care, 
For what we see in heaven, in earth, or air. 



THE END. 



INDEX OF DRAMAS, 



ACTORS' COSTUMES SUGGESTED. 



No. L — THE LAST NIGHT OF A NATION.— Page l. 

Brewster English dress coat, violet colored ; small clothes 

and green waistcoat ; ruffled wristbands, broad- 
brimmed hat, knee and shoe buckles, and 
locks long and frosty. 

Major Snodgrass . . Thesack-coat of an English settler and slouched 
hat. 

HuLDAH An old lady's jacket, white cap, bordered, and 

blue petticoat. 

Bradford Cocked hat, dress coat, English small clothes. 

Masson ...... In uniform as an English captain of 1647. 

HooKE Sailor's jacket, cap, etc. 

Underhill .... Uniformed as an English captain, — blue, with 
white facings. 

Wequash With long black hair, face painted, girdled, and 

nearly nude (see page 307). 

Uncas Plumed Indian dress, — fantastic (see pages 

303, 305)- 

Stanton Slouched hat, sack-coat. 

John Alden .... Clothed as a gallant youth of 1650. 

Priscilla In tasteful habit, according to her age and time. 

The Narragansett . Adorned in common Indian dress (see page 307). 

Sassamon Dressed half Indian, half English. 

Hypsabeth In large cap with border, heavy shawl, and drab 

petticoat. 
Sassacus Plumed, apparently naked save the belt, paint, 

and plumes. 
Susanna Dress long-waisted, old-fashioned, homespun, 

and heavy. 
Weetamoo Plumed, and in gorgeous costume (see page 

303), and adorned with wampum, etc. 

343 



344 INDEX OF DRAMAS. 



No. II.— MIANTONIMO. — Page 59. 

Roger Williams . . Broad-brimmed hat, small clothes, standing col- 
lar, heavy wig, and necktie ribbons. 

Canonicus Plumed, in Indian costume, as a chief, locks 

long and gray (see page 305). 

Michael Dressed Irish fashion, as in 1650. 

Peter Same as Micliael, varying in colors. 

Agnes In dress of a servant girl of old ; skirts red. 

MossuP In Indian dress (see page 307). 

Mason Uniformed as in the olden time, — blue dress 

coat, white facings. 

Uncas Plumed, belted, and painted (see page 303). 

Stubbs In slouched hat and Quaker dress. 

Passaconaway . . . Plumed and belted, painted, varying from dress 

of Uncas (see pages 303-7). 
Shipmaster .... English dress coat, etc. 

Gardner Cocked hat and uniformed. 

Eliot Broad-brimmed hat, knee and shoe buckles. 

Pessacus Indian costume, varymg from the others (see 

pages 303-;). 
Frank Felton . . . English lawyer's dress, and wig. 

Augustine In a habit, nice and plain, then in fashion. 

Deacon Avery . . . Dressed as an English settler. 

Quaker Slouched hat and Quaker dress. 

Stanton In common English costume. 

Sick Man As in niglit clothing. 

WiNTHROP Cocked hat, small clothes, knee and shoe 

buckles. 

NiNiGRET Indian, plumed, painted, etc. 

Jailor English apparel in fashion of that time. 

Miantonimo .... Plumed, clothed, and equipped somewhat like 

Philip (see pages 303, 305, 307). 

No. III. — KING PHILIP.— Page 135. 

Gov. Leverett ... A cocked hat, small clothes, knee and shoe 

buckles. 
King Philip .... Plumed, belted, etc. (seepages 303-305). 

MosELEY In uniform of an English captain of his time. 

Fuller Dressed the same as Moseley, but in a different 

color. 



INDEX OF DRAMAS. 345 

Matilda Clothed in the fashion of a lady of 1675. 

Sassamon Dress, part Indian and part English fashion. 

QuiNNAPiN In costume, as seen on page 303. 

RowLANDSON .... Drab dress, in fashion of that day, — English. 

Weetamoo In plumes, etc., as seen on page 303. 

Whittaker .... Dress common to young English settlers. 

Mary Skirts red, in the then common fashion. 

Old Jethro .... In Indian dress (see page 307). 

DuMKiNS Slouched hat and habit of an English hunter. 

LiGHTFOOT Fantastic, in Indian dress. 

Watachpoo .... Plumed, as an Indian warrior. 

Attorney-General . Small clothes, knee and shoe buckles, dress 
coat and heavy wig. 

Court In gown and heavy wig. 

Clerk Dressed in the fashion of English settlers. 

Major Waldron . . In dress coat (English), broad-brimmed hat, 
long and frosty locks. 

Mrs. Kimball. ... In heavy shawl, with other heavy, weather- 
beaten apparel. 

Peter An Indian, in common apparel of belt, etc. 

Sir Harbottle . . . With white, heavy wig, knee and shoe buckles. 

Wonalancet .... Plumed, and belted, etc. (see picture on page 
328). 

No. IV.— THE REGICIDES. - Page 190. 

William Goffe . . . English dress coat, broad-brimmed hat, knee 

and shoe buckles, long and frosty locks. 
Edw^ard Whalley . . Same as Goffe's dress, varying only in color : 

wig, gray. 
John Dixwell . . . Dress the same, substantially, but varying in 

color. 
Sir John Ayscue . . Cocked hat. Englishman's dress coat, etc. 
Jo. Bradshawe . . . Dressed English, and entirely in scarlet. 
Michael McPherson, In ordinary dress of the Irish gentleman. 

Dr. Drug Dressed after the English fashion, sack coat. 

King Charles I. . . His apparel, as usual, evincing royalty. 

The Duke of York . In a boy's neat jacket, etc., as may have been 

the royal fashion. 
The Princes .... In rich dress, as would have been the fashion 

ef that day. 
Aunt Margery . . . Dressed in the fashion of a Scotch lady of her 

time. 



346 



INDEX OF DRAMAS. 



Jennie Geddes ... In apparel similar to Margery's, varying in 
color, 

KiANEMO Plumed, and in bright, fantastic dress (see 

page 303). 

Oliver Cromwell . . English uniform and Napoleon hat, with knee 
and shoe buckles. 

Messenger In jacket ; dressed as an English settler. 

NiMROD In the garb of a hunter. 

King's Constable . . In the uniform of an English bailiff. 

Mrs. Fleetwood . . Dressed fashionable for 1650. 

Mrs Claypole . . . Clothed same as Fleetwood, varying in color. 

Richard ... . . In hunter's dress, English. 

Joice Uniformed as a captain. 

Naylor With broad-brimmed hat ; dressed as a Quaker. 

Harrison, 

Peter, and ■ . . . . Each in citizen's dress, as Englishmen; sack 

Jones, J coats. 

Sagamore Sam . . . Dressed mostly in Indian fashion. 

Leonora Plumed, and in fantastic garments, orna- 
mented (see pages 303-5). 



No. V. — CHOCORU A IN THE MOUNTAINS. — Page 249. 

Dressed as an English settler in the wilderness. 

Apparel common to her station. 

In neat English dress, common to a frontier 

life. 
In a hunter's garb ; hat broad-brimmed. 
In English officer's diess. 
In apparel as an Indian, painted and plumed. 
Plumed, painted, armed (see page 262). 
In height of fashion, garment long-waisted. 
Well painted and flounced. 
In modest apparel. 
Dressed in ordinary apparel, wearing the wig 

of an attorney. 
Plumed, belted, and painted (see pages 303 and 

305)- 
With or without plume, belted (see pages 305 
and 307. 



Mr. Campbell 
Mrs. Campbell 
Eliz, Wrinkle 



Uncle Ned 
Lovewell . 
Robinhood. 
Chocorua , 
Mrs. Tobey 
Liz. Tobey . 
Mehitable . 
Freeman . 



Indian Chief. 



LiGHTFOOT 



^M 



